The City Screams
by TravelingThroughTime
Summary: A woman from his past haunted by visions of heaven and hell, demons set lose by an occult occupied by an underground Vampire society. Someone's out to get Constantine and he may be set for yet another hellride in LA; the city of screaming souls.JohnAngela
1. Chapter I: Demon Takes Child

**Story Rating: **Starts at T- M. The rating M is for later chapters. This fic contains a lot of swearing, strong violence, and sexual content as well as implied nudity and drug use.

**Summary:** It all began with an exorcism, the return of a childhood friend, and the possibility that demons have found another door in the mortal world. It's all coming clear that someone's playing games, someone wants revenge, someone wants to get even...but it has nothing to do with Mammon, not this time. It looks like John may be in for yet another hell ride in Los Angeles, the city of screaming souls...but this time, it's different.

**Disclaimer: **Nothing's mine, I'm just a fan writing a story that will hopefully be entertaining. lol.

* * *

**PROLOGUE:**

_I'm alone again; beside myself in this cold, empty apartment I call home. The only sound I hear is the bowling balls crashing against the pins downstairs, or footsteps outside the hall followed by whispers; whispers of people I don't even know. They just live here like myself._

_The most company I have is the pigeons outside my window, which is pretty pathetic when I think about it. _

_Beeman's bowling alley is now managed by his brother. Which isn't good for me since the rent's gone up twenty fucking dollars…doesn't matter anyhow…_

_Hennessey's gone, so I mainly find myself working alongside jack asses from the catholic church; the damn hypocrites._

_Somehow I can't believe it's been three months since I last saw or heard from Angela, well, I did see her once, but I just couldn't talk to her. I've seen Midnite on a few occasions…_

_Now it's 5:31 am. I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, staring down the hole of an almost empty vodka bottle. I've been drinking this stuff for years…somehow, it washes away the pain, the memories._

_I sure could use the humor of an annoying apprentice right about now…the kid died before his time._

* * *

**CHAPTER I: Demon Takes Child**

The ticking of his wrist watch could almost be heard beneath the crashing sound of the pins downstairs in the bowling hall.

His brown eyes were fixated on the world outside the window, the world hugged between the old wooden shutters that often hid him within the tattered walls of this old place.

The people of his past, the people he somewhat considered friends, it seemed like they always ended up as ghosts, trailing in his shadow.

The phone started ringing, slowly breaking his mind from his thoughts, thoughts that had his face painted with expressions of the unhappy type.

He pulled himself up straight, leaving the softness of his bed, making his way over to the wall phone.

He picked it up.

"What?" his voice gruff, deepened and uncaring. Since his last parting with Angela; it seemed he had grown hard again…hard like a shot of whisky.

_"John, this is Father Garret. I'm calling on behalf of a family."_

"Let me guess; someone's been possessed and none of you know what to do about it."

The Father hesitated at first.

_"…well, yes."_ was his reply. _"I need you to go over and see what you can do."_

"I'm not working this weekend. I need to rest."

_"John, this is urgent. Please."_

John sighed.

"Where do they live?"

* * *

After arrival, he stepped out of the cab, tipping the driver and watching him drive away from the old hidden suburb.

His shoes clacked against the sidewalk, leading up to the brick, 1970's ranch style house.

The exorcist nearly stumbled over a large rock that he hadn't noticed while making his way to the door, but he managed to catch himself.

He was standing before the door, reaching into his coat pocket for some gum; nicoderm.

He tossed it into his mouth, readying himself to knock.

He clutched his fist, knocking it steadily against the wood door. He could see a figure coming down the hall through the small window cut-out.

The fellow opened the door, a young stoutly built man. He had a buzz cut, clean face, flannel shirt.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"I'm John Constantine. Father Garret said you needed help with an exorcism."

"Oh, please come inside."

John stepped in. The house seemed like a decent family home inside but there was an essence about it that wasn't of this world.

On the couch sat a young woman, her short brow hair neatly placed behind her ears. Her baggy hooded sweat shirt draped over her with her blue jeans.

"Mom, we've got company." she said.

John soon saw a middle aged woman enter the room, a casual woman, but her face read: _Terror_. As did everyone else here.

"I'm Howard Livingston, this is my wife Sandra…" said the young man.

"And I'm Mrs. Fairfax." said the older woman. "I'm Sandra's mother."

"Father Garret mentioned something to me about a kid being terrorized by some supernatural force." John said, his eyes looking about the room, searching for a child rather than an adult.

"That would be my little boy, Jake." stated Mrs. Fairfax. "No one at the catholic church will grant us an exorcism…"

"That's why they call me. Can I see the boy?"

"Wait there." The woman left the den, not taking long to return with a pale, almost ghostly-like boy of about ten. His sandy brown hair was un-maintained and his eyes said: _Exhaustion_.

"Jake, this is Mr. um…." his mother paused, waiting for John to repeat his name.

"Constantine." John said.

Jake gazed at him grimly.

He didn't see a little boy. No, he saw a demon within those dark eyes, those eyes that seemed to be growing blacker.

The boy clutched his fists, his eyes set upon the exorcist, somehow knowing that he was trouble, for the demon.

"Jake, can you say hello? Mr. Constantine is here to help."

"…He shouldn't be here. He needs to leave." was what he uttered angrily before returning to his bedroom.

"I'm very sorry, Jake has always been a kind boy... before it happened."

John took a seat on the couch.

"So tell me…what's this all about? What's wrong with the kid exactly?"

"I'll explain." Howard offered. He clutched his hands together as they dangled between his knees as he sat edged on the couch.

"It all started happening when Sandra and I rented a house. My mother was actually going to live with us for a while. On our moving day, we took Jake along because he wanted to help…he's always been so good about being the _little helper_ of the house…we even had a spare room for him, so that he could spend the night sometimes along with my Mother in-law."

"Go on." John told him.

"That day, as Sandra and I were moving furniture in, Jake had been in the house; exploring. And just as we were carrying the couch to the front door, he came running out as if something was after him."

Sandra then cut in.

"We stopped everything and walked over to see what was up. He was huddled beneath a tree like some beaten dog… it terrified me to see my little brother in this state. I asked him what was wrong and he immediately began telling us that there was a monster in the house, and that it was going to kill him…Mr. Constantine, I know you don't know Jake, but he would never lie…not like that. Afterwards he refused to go back inside, and that's when Howard and I decided that something had to be wrong with the house. We haven't been back since."

Mrs. Fairfax then told her part of the story.

"After they came home that night, Jake began acting strange, like someone was out to get him. He kept speaking of this old man and how he was going to punish Jake for finding his secret hiding place. We've asked Jake what he means by this secret, but he refuses to speak of it anymore."

The woman began to break out in tears.

"Whatever this thing is, it keeps beating my baby. Sometimes he wakes up screaming for help, and we find him literally being thrown and punched by this invisible force…and I feel so helpless!" she threw her face into her palms.

Sandra put her arms around her grieving mother.

John stood up from the sofa.

"What are you going to do, to help Jake I mean?" Howard asked.

"I'm gonna wait it out.."

John found his way to Jake's room where he saw the boy sitting on the floor, huddled and staring blankly at a toy car. He seemed numb to John's presence.

The exorcist glanced him, tilting his head somewhat to the left as he studied the boy's face, taking in the essence of the room at the same time.

The air seemed still, thick somehow, and cold. It was typical of a demonic invasion and John suspected nothing less than a possible demon, and this worried him.

_"The balance, how could it be broken? Again?"_ he thought.

He stepped out of the bedroom, a decision had nestled itself within his mind: _Wait_.

That night, Mrs. Fairfax had prepared a fine casserole for everyone, including their strange guest.

Sandra had finally convinced Jake to leave his room and join everyone for a hot meal.

John pulled out the chair and sat himself down, almost never leaving his gaze upon the boy, who seemed fixated upon John just as well.

Their glare upon each other made Howard, Sandra and especially Mrs. Fairfax uneasy.

"Shall we bless the food?" asked the nervous mother.

"No. It would be a bad ideal to mention God here." Jake growled at her, his eyes still fixed on John.

"Jake that's not like you at all, usually you're the one reminding us." Sandra said.

Jake didn't reply, but John did.

"Say the blessing." he told Mrs. Fairfax.

"The old man will get angry." Jake said. Now he was slowly changing his tone; he seemed more fearful than before, like he was the victim again.

"I don't give a damn what the _old man_ does." John said, challenging the presence he could feel around them.

"The old man is more powerful than you think. He knew the whole time you were coming…he knows about you. You drabble in the occult, exorcisms…he's heard other things about you too." Jake confessed. "…That's why you almost tripped over that rock when you got out of the cab."

John looked at him with bewildered eyes.

"Let me ask you something kid, is he always an old man? Or is that just a disguise to hide what he really is?"

"…sometimes." Jake swallowed.

"Tell me about his hiding place."

"No! I can't!"

Mrs. Fairfax then cut in, seeing her son was becoming upset.

"Let's eat, the food is getting cold." she said.

But John ignored her. He leaned forward over the table, gazing into Jake's pale face.

"You know what? I don't think the old man is all that tough."

"You don't understand; he's very powerful." Jake replied.

"Prove it then. Tell the old man to make the table shake." John provoked.

Jake shook his head.

"I can't….he…."

But sure enough, the table began to vibrate, the shaking becoming more violent by the moment as if someone was beneath it, trying to prove some point. John knew it was the demon.

When John moved away from his seat at the table, it stopped shaking. He rolled up his sleeves, placing his arms together to form the symbol marked upon his skin.

Everyone watched in silence.

"Into the light I command thee!" he said, his knees bending slowly to the floor.

The room began to waver, everything grew dark.

"Into the light, I command thee!" he repeated.

"No…no! Stop it! Stop it!" Jake yelled, running over and pulling John's arms apart.

"What the hell are you doing?" John demanded.

Howard went to take the boy up in his arms as the child kicked and screamed.

The room rekindled it's light. And the air was warmer again.

John stood to his feet, his eyes said: _Frustration_.

"Why the hell did you do that?"

"He'll kill us! He told me that if you tried anything, he'd kill us all!" Jake cried. His mother placed her arms around him.

"What was that you just did there?" Howard asked. Everyone was clearly freaked out by whatever it was that the exorcist had done.

"It's just a way to force a demon to reveal itself…if there's one present."

John leaned himself against the wall, he was stressed, confused, wondering how he would solve this mystery.

"I think we should all just go to bed now." Mrs. Fairfax suggested. "Mr. Constantine, if you like, you can sleep on the couch."

"I won't be sleeping tonight. But I'll remain in the den until something comes up." John knew this demon was toying with him, hiding itself to avoid being caught.

The hours seemed to pass by slowly, as if time was being purposely stubborn…and within those slow hours of the night, nothing ever happened. John's tired eyes finally defeated his restless mind, forcing him to catch at least a little sleep.

"Mr. Constantine? Mr. Constantine?" It was the young man, shaking him from within his rest.

"What? What?" John opened his eyes, seeing that the clock on the wall now read 6:02 am.

"I'm heading out for work. Are you going to stay the rest of the day?"

"I can't leave until I take care of this demon…" John was trying to remember this man's name. God, he was terrible at remembering the names of random victims.

"Well,"

He could tell this young man didn't like the ideal of leaving two women and a child alone with a stranger.

"If something happens with the kid, I'm sure your wife will call you."

"Uh, yeah…right. Well good luck."

The young man, Howard, stepped out of the house, getting into his red truck and sitting there for a while, just thinking.

Then, within seconds, his eyes glanced towards the woods behind the house, and he saw something that frightened him, and at the same time, filled him with rage; rage for all of the hell that this _thing_ had been putting the whole family through.

"You bastard! You wanna pick on someone? You pick on me!"

The creature stood there, almost grinning at him with it's fangs.

He cranked the truck up, slammed his foot on the peddle and began driving towards the beast.

But this was a mistake, the demon was clever, vanishing from the scene and giving lead way for Howard to drive into a ditch.

Within seconds, everyone had raced out of the house to see the accident, even neighbors had gathered around.

John climbed carefully down the ditch to the open window of Howard's door.

"What happened?" he asked, seeing that Howard was still conscious, though somewhat shocked.

His eyes slowly found their way to John's face.

"The creature, I saw it…it was demon-like. I tried to run over it."

"That was a stupid move. Can't you see it's trying to get rid of all of you one by one?"

Before long, an ambulance had pulled up, and everyone watched as Howard was taken away after being carefully removed from the bent up pick up.

"Is he going to be alright?" Sandra asked, her heart skipping a beat.

"I think he'll be fine." said one of the neighbors. "I think he's just stunned more than anything."

John paced back up to the house, opening the door and stepping back inside with Mrs. Fairfax and Sandra behind him.

For the first few moments, the house was so quiet, and everyone knew Jake was still in his room, but then the thumping sounds came from within the walls and there were sounds of breaking glass and screams of a little boy.

John broke into the room with the two women behind him.

There they saw Jake being thrown and tossed, punched and then strangled.

"JAKE!!" screamed his mother.

John rolled up his sleeves, this time it would _have_ to work.

"Into the light, I command thee!" The house began to grow dark, the walls almost felt as if they could close in on everyone, and the demon was revealed.

There on the boy was this gangly creature, similar to the one John had once flushed out of a teenage Hispanic girl.

The creature knew it had been exposed, and it tried it's best to leap up onto the wall, but John quickly tossed a holy water ampoule on it, apparently one that Beeman had given him.

The creature's skin seemed to be slowly burning off as it still struggled to escape John's grasp, though, within seconds, he had it pushed to the floor.

The family watched in horror, overwhelmed by what they were seeing. Jake remained tucked behind his mother.

"Alright," John pulled the crucifix out from his coat pocket. "Now tell me, how'd you get into the mortal world, asshole?"

The demon spoke the black tongue; giving John nothing but refusal.

"I said, tell me how you got here!" he placed the crucifix to it's head, the demon bellowing like a boar during slaughter. "Tell me now!"

The beast vibrated in his arms, and he briefly released it of the crucifix.

"Tell me!"

"The well!" Jake said.

The demon eyed the boy, snarling at him like a hungry beast, longing to kill.

John placed the crucifix to it's head once more, intending to rid the family and the world of this trespasser.

He held the beast firmly with his knees and his free hand as he began chanting biblical words, commanding the beast to go back to whence it came.

Sandra, Mrs. Fairfax and Jake stood in the doorway, wanting to flee the room but somehow unable to move, and when the beast's eyes moved over to where they stood once more, John remembered...

"GET OUT! DON'T LOOK AT IT!" He yelled.

The family fled at last after his demand, and John was left to finish off this demon, this creature that slowly vanquished into nothingness.

The exorcist climbed back to his feet, but he wasn't quite done yet; he needed a favor.

"It's gone? Isn't it?" Sandra asked after he had re-joined them in the den.

"Yeah. But I need someone to drive me to the rental house. I need Jake to show me the well."

Sandra and her mother exchanged glances and Jake swallowed nervously.

* * *

Sandra and Mrs. Fairfax sat up front while Sandra drove. Jake and Howard, who had his arm in a sling, sat beside John who was squeezed in the middle of the backseat of the old car.

They had been driving for five hours now, going down the busy freeway called San Bernardino heading east out into the country. If not for the traffic, and waiting for Howard to be released from the hospital, they might have arrived at least a little sooner.

Sandra finally turned off on a country road leading to small farms, and a few houses.

Eventually she turned into a large open lot, surrounded by woods where a small vinyl sided house sat.

It didn't look haunted, just your average little starter home nestled in the California country side.

They all stepped out of the car.

"The rest of you stay here. Jake, show me where this _well_ you mentioned is."

"I'll go with you." Howard insisted.

"Fine." John said.

They followed the boy around the back of the little house, stepping over garbage and old fallen branches.

He took them inside a barn and there he pointed his finger to the floor.

The barn was old, tattered and in a state of possibly falling down upon them, or so it seemed with it's widely cracked wall boards and it's numerous roof holes, not to mention the small holes in the squeeky flooring.

"Have you been in here before?" John asked the boy.

He nodded.

John followed the direction of Jake's finger, kneeling down over the old planks and finding a brass handle. He studied the floor around him, seeing the faded marking of a pentagram.

"Satanists…it's a possibility." He uttered, gliding his finger across the surface where the symbol had been drawn.

"What?" Howard questioned, not quite making out the words.

"A pentagram. It's possible there were Satan worshipers here. They might have used the well as a portal."

John gripped the brass handle, jerking up the stubborn wood hatch that hid a deep hole inside; an old well.

He stared down into it's darkness for a moment, his ears almost making out the faint sound of something crawling and snarling beneath…or so he thought.

The three of them suddenly jumped at the sound of wings over head, but to John's relief, it was only a barn owl, startled by the presence of humans.

"Now I know what the old guy meant; the guy I rented this place from." Howard commented.

"What?" John closed the hatch, turning himself around to face him.

"He said that six months ago he rented this place to some weird couple. He said they were literally run out of the area by the locals."

"I see, it all makes sense now."

"So what are you going to do?" Howard asked.

"I'm thinking about it. Let's head on back…I don't need any of your assistance now; except to give me a drive back to L.A."

* * *

It was late one night, a black sedan had pulled up in front of the rental house.

John Constantine stepped out of the passenger side and Father Garret stepped out of the driver's.

They both approached the trunk of the large Lincoln, where they both began to carry what appeared to be a large cross to the old barn.

John nailed the hatch shut, while Father Garret began to use a chemical cleaner to remove the pentagram. They both worked under the light of their flashlights.

At last the job was done, and the two men carefully laid the large sculpted cross over the hatch.

Father Garret screwed the cross, with it's carving of Jesus, to the floor, insuring that no one would be able to remove it, at least for a while.

When they exited from the barn, they boarded up the doors with some lumber that Garret had strapped to the roof of the car, and at last their work was done.

"I still think we should burn the barn down." Garret said.

"No, it'll be useless. The cross should do for now." John said. "Until I can do something to close the portal off completely."

On the way back to the car, a curious question had arisen from the exorcist.

"Have you spoken to Angela lately?"

He knew that Father Garret had, in the past, little talks with Dodson.

"…No, I can't say that I have." Garret lifted his brows, not too eager to speak of such a woman with such a man.

"Well when did you see her last?" John asked.

Garret was becoming annoyed by the questioning.

"John, let me say this;" they both eased their way back into the car.

"Angela, needs to seek salvation…she is, gifted, special, unique."

"I know this." John snapped, knowing that he had been the one to remind her of her gift.

"I know. But what I'm saying is that, Angela needs to stay close to God…she shouldn't get mixed up with…"

John silenced him.

"I know what you're getting at…don't worry, I don't plan on barging in on her life."

"I meant no offense, John. But we all know you're a man with many demons. If anyone knows anything about the occult and how it works, you do."

"…Just get us back to L.A.. I'm tired."

Garret cranked up the car. Neither of them spoke during the drive.

John was worried…he wondered if any other demons had escaped the _gateway_ in the barn.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

This first chapter was inspired by an episode of "A Haunting" on discovery...real good show. And I'd like to give a special shout out to **KrisEleven**. Thanks so much for pointing out the errors, I'll fix the rest along and along. lol!


	2. Chapter II: I'm Looking For A Story

**PROLOGUE:**

_The darkness and gloom of Los Angele's backstreets. This is where they dwell, they are disguised to the normal eye. But to some, they are seen as half breeds._

_The sound of sirens in the distance. _

_The whispers of a rapist, cornering a helpless young woman. _

_Old stray dogs, tipping over trash cans._

_A gang of punks fleeing from the pawn shop they just broke into._

_The silent, dark streets are dampened from the previous rain. A drunken hobo staggers across it, finding his way into the shadowed alley._

_In the shadows of the world, dark forces are working against good…these forces consist mainly of soldier demons; Lucifer's minions who have found open doors into the mortal realm where they hide in the corners of hate, misery, anger, maliciousness; just waiting for the opportunity to prey upon the innocent. _

_This is Los Angeles, "the city of angels" as some call it; though some argue that it should be re-titled as "the city of demons"..._

* * *

**CHAPTER II: I'm Looking For A Story**

11:45 Ryan's Diner

"I thought I told you I wanted my eggs scrambled!" The fat, grungy, middle aged bastard must have deliberately come into the diner just to start a fight with an already anxious waitress.

"I could have sworn you told me otherwise." she explained herself. "I've got it wrote on the ticket."

"Look here, if I wanted em' fried, I would've remembered telling you. I don't eat em' any other way but scrambled!"

She bit her lip, holding back the rage she felt inside. This man had been nagging her on ever since his arrival.

"_First the coffee, then the toast, now the eggs…what's next? Him wanting me to fetch his laundry?"_ she thought sarcastically.

She returned to the kitchen to correct the order a final time.

The diner was crowded, as always. It was early morning and she was just waiting for the clock to read twelve noon. She'd be off then…off to her other possible job.

"Here sir. Are the eggs scrambled enough?"

"Scrambled _enough_?" His face read: _Displeasure_.

She sighed at him.

"They look like they've been _scrambled_ to freakin' death!" He made _scrambled_ sound like a crime.

"Look, what do you want from me? A fresh plate of food? A refund? The manager?"

He looked at her, a devious grin slowly creeping upon his gritty, unmanaged face.

"How's about a lap dance, baby?" His eyes found her long, smooth legs beneath the short, button up green shirt dress. They wandered about her flawless shanks like a wolf devouring some deer. And when he was ready for his eyes to wander back up to her face, he received a hot cup of coffee right on top of his head.

"Pig." she said angrily.

"You little fucking bitch!" He yelled so loud, the whole restaurant was silenced by the scene.

"Kathy, Kathy! What the hell's goin' on here?" the manager was her uncle, who had taken over the restaurant for his brother and had given his niece a job. He was a middle aged, bearded man.

"This guy is sexually harassing me, uncle Danny!" she spoke with frustration.

"What? Okay, okay…just calm down. Take the rest of the day off, I'll deal with this."

...and she was glad to do so.

She snatched her brown trench coat off the rack, finding her purse and fleeing from the hectic diner.

She paced down the street, heading towards the towering buildings up ahead. Her red high heels almost pounding against the pavement of the bustling sidewalked streets, her wavy, golden blonde locks bouncing behind her back; pulled up in a pony tail. She had her arms wrapped almost around her body, her purse dangling over her side.

She was a somewhat tall woman, a slender decent figure, bangs hanging losely over her brows, and plump lips that complimented her brown eyes rather well. An attractive blonde to give you a fair ideal.

Her name was Katherine Ryan.

Everyone who knew her well, friends, neighbors, her uncle; they all called her Kathy; but her dad always called her Kit and there were few people besides him who referred to her as such.

* * *

12:13 pm The Local Times

She moved to the leather chair. The office around her classic…what taste…what a mess! Papers scattered all over the desk, news papers pinned all over the pin boards with snap shot photographs taped over them. That impossibly loud and constant ringing of telephones in the other offices as well as this one.

He was pacing, always pacing…the other two journalists beside her knew that his mouth was just before firing off into an array of ideals, demands and needs.

"It's happened again! Again! Another civilian death!"

"In what sir?" The man with the spectacles and curly red hair asked.

"G-dammit! Exorcisms! What else, you Mongolian idiot?" He was a tall, slim, aged man with slick black hair and a thick mustache. He had a pin striped shirt, a red tie and cacky slacks. His arms remained folded behind his arms as he faced the three sitting before him.

"Look at this!" he referred to the photographs pinned up on the pin board behind him. "Pictures, I've got plenty of them. But not a single fucking article!" his voice was gruff and harsh, irritating.

"Well what kind of articles are you searching for?" asked the woman with the short black hair.

"Dammit! Dammit Ursula, I've told you sorry bastards I don't know how many times!"

"Mr. Dawson, it's not that easy to get good stories about these sorts of things…they rarely happen as it is." Ursula replied.

"Well there's a lot of them happening here lately! And there's other similar things that have _been_ happening. Look at that story we did on the incident at Ravenscar…the Isabel Dodson case!" He never paused once for a breath. "What about those incidents with the occult? Why hasn't someone followed up on this shit already?"

"Mr. Dawson, there's just too many other things going on in Los Angeles…And like I said, it's hard to write articles on the paranormal whenever you don't know where to start." Ursula explained.

"Get out! All of you g-dammit!"

"Mr. Dawson…" The red haired man tried,

"OUT!"

The black haired woman and the red haired man stepped out of the office, leaving Mr. Dawson alone to study his photos and puff his cigar…but the nervous blonde remained; hesitant to speak at first, afraid that she would be unsuccessful in gaining her own self confidence.

"…Um, Mr. Dawson?" she made herself speak.

He spun around, eyeing her as if he had been unaware of her the whole time.

"What?" he demanded sharply, reminding her of just how uneasy she felt within herself.

"These articles, what is it exactly you're searching for in particular?"

He sighed, getting ready to storm at her; but she stopped him in time.

"Are you searching for explanations of the paranormal activity? The causes behind the possessions? What is it?"

He looked at her, laying his cigar down into the ash tray and taking his seat.

"Sit down." he told her, folding his hands under his chin.

"..Oh…" she tried for a smile, taking her seat before the large desk once more.

"I didn't catch your name."

"I'm Katherine Ryan. I applied here several times but…I actually wanted to talk to you."

"I assume you're searching for a career in journalism? This is a big firm Miss Ryan. Do have any credentials?"

She felt her gut twist into a knot.

"I worked for the school paper up into high school." she gave him pointlessly. "And I use to work in placing ads in the local shopper."

"You barely look old enough to be _out_ of high school, or college at least."

"I take that as a compliment, I guess, but I'm twenty eight sir."

"Single? Married?"

"I live with my dad. He's paralyzed." It annoyed her when people attempted to dig into her personal life.

"I'm sorry to hear that…"

"Thanks…"

"…That you don't have any professional experience that is."

She lost her smile.

"Mr. Dawson, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get a job here…and I believe that I can get you a story, a story just like you want."

"Oh really? And just how do you plan on doing this?"

"Just give me a chance." she pleaded. "Mr. Dawson, I need this job…it's been my life long dream and, I've got to better myself."

"Like I care…look, I'll give you two fucking weeks to get a good story. You fail within that time, I don't care if you do go to Cornell, I'll make sure you don't step foot in this firm ever again."

"It's settled then." she reached out to shake his hand. The man was somewhat puzzled by her eagerness, refusing to place his hand into hers.

"…Oh, well, I should be going." she said, seeing that he wasn't willing to be even the least bit of _nice_.

"Yes, you should." he grumbled.

"…well, bye."

She stumbled out of the office, soon finding herself pacing down the crowded streets again.

She knew it looked hopeless, where would she begin? Though she couldn't help but smile…this was her chance; and who knew? Maybe there was some way she _could_ get a good story…and there was only one reasonable place to start: The Catholic Church.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Author's Note:

Some of you may know that Katherine a.k.a. Kit Ryan is actually the name of a character from Hellblazer…well I just want to confirm that I'm merely borrowing the name, but for a different kind of Kit….you see, I'm as bad at coming up with my own character names as I am appearance descriptions! And Kit Ryan just sort of "fits" if you know what I mean…If you read my Vendetta fic, you'll see that I did the same thing with Zed.


	3. Chapter III: There's A Hole In My Soul

**CHAPTER III: There's A Hole In My Soul**

He shoved himself hastily through the large doors, his black coat swaying past his hips.

The place echoed in it's greatness. The many rows of towering bookcases; an endless array of books seemed to find themselves tucked tightly together along their long shelves.

"May I take your coat Mr. Constantine?" asked the young man dressed in black.

"No." John pushed past him, his sight set firmly upon Father Garret who stood straight up ahead of him, and to John's surprise, there, talking with the Father, was none other than Angela.

They both placed their eyes on John, there seemed to be some small gleam within Angela's expression, though, the closer he got, the more that gleam seemed to fade away.

He stopped, looking her closely in the eye, and she waited anxiously for him to speak to her, but it was Father Garret who received John's first words.

"I need to talk to you." He said gruffly, no longer interested in looking into Angela's anxious eyes, or so he wanted to seem.

"John, I'm speaking with Ms. Dodson right now…"

"I'm sure it can't be more important than what _I_ have to say." John replied.

Angela scrunched her brows at him.

"And it's nice to see you too, John Constantine." she sneered.

"Garret, it can't wait…"

Garret glanced at Angela, who still had her cold glare upon John.

The Father started to speak, but the detective over-worded him.

"It's alright David, go ahead and speak with John…I'm sure that he has a good excuse for his lack of manners."

John gave her a harsh glance before walking off with Father Garret.

"What is this about, John?" he asked after they had both squeezed themselves between two rows of bookshelves.

"Demons." He replied, his tone angered and weary all at once.

Angela seemed to walk herself un-meaningfully around the chairs in front of the fire place. Her arms crossed and her eyes often wandering to where John and Garret stood.

"John," Garret began, "We've been through this so many times this week. If it's the portal you're worried about, don't worry, the church has purchased the rental house to ensure it isn't opened again."

"Garret, more people are becoming possessed by soldier demons. There's something going on…and I think the occult is behind it."

"John, people become…possessed. All we can do is exercise the demons out and,"

John cut him off.

"You know about the things that go on behind closed doors, Garret. You worked with Hennessey, you both knew."

"John, these soldier demons you speak of, don't you think it's possible that some of them were…left behind?"

"What do you mean_ left behind_?"

"When this thing with the, _spear_," he said _spear_ in a whispered tone, "started happening…I don't know; I only know what little bit Hennessey spoke of before he was murdered, god rest his soul."

"Yeah, god rest his soul…" John said sourly. "If only _God_ would do the same for me." He stepped away from the Father, making his way back to the doors.

He stepped out of the church, pausing for a piece of nicoderm.

He glanced up, taking notice of the light rain that slowly began to drizzle from the grey sky, the distant sound of thunder rolling through the clouds.

In the corner of his eye he saw a figure step out, knowing that it was Angela.

She reached into her purse for her umbrella, opening it up and pretending not to notice John.

"Déjà vu." he muttered.

"What do you mean?" she asked carelessly. "Did you remember the rainy night we stood here, the night you were acting like an asshole?"

"You should know better than to say things like that, this is a holy place."

"We're outside, John." she said, studying his gum chewing.

"…So," she finally started, "What's this I hear about soldier demons?"

John glanced at her.

"There's been a lot of possessions, people getting hurt, dying even."

"Sounds like you've got your hands full." She said. "I heard some of the cops talking about these investigations. I'll probably be bombarded with them too, before long."

"Well," he said, "It's like I told you, once you get in on it, there's no turning back."

The rain was pouring harder and John was getting wet.

"You can step under the umbrella if you want." she offered.

"No thanks." he seemed smooth toned. "The way I see it, things are about to get fucking screwed."

"Church John."

He ignored her and there was some while of silence, until Angela broke it.

"I know you're still angry with me because I…don't want a life of peril." she grunted.

He glanced in her direction, easing a brow upward.

"I'm not mad about anything…never was."

"Oh sure John. Is that why you're giving me a cold shoulder…I ran into you last week near the library and you acted like you didn't see me."

There was some bit of silence between them again; awkward silence.

"You were right Angela." He replied at last. "It could never be, you and me. My life is too dangerous. No girl wants to get mixed up with a man with so many demons. Even though _you_ face violence on the streets. I guess after the Mammon thing, you wanted out. But the thing you're forgetting is that there's no getting out...especially for someone with a gift like your's."

He left her standing, thinking about how sarcastic he was. He left her thinking, about how hard it was to accept the reality that it wouldn't or couldn't be and how right he was about no turning back.

She didn't want to fall in, and there was still that little nagging thought that made her afraid of ending up like Isabel, though, unlike her sister, she was stronger, much stronger.

_"John_…" she could hear herself utter in the storm, her voice almost drowned out by the rain.

John walked in quick strides down the wet, rainy streets of L.A., and he carried a heavy heart along with him as he huddled beneath his damp coat.

The thought of dwelling soldier demons being lose in Los Angeles and who knows where else had unnerved him enough; but seeing Angela was the straw that broke the camel's back. He had been struggling to push her out of his head. It had been quite some time since the "good bye".

* * *

**Heavy metal was playing...**

It seemed like just moments ago that he was speaking to Garret about lose demons. Now he was seated at a round booth in Midnite's club, hugged in next to a drunken Roach and three foxy half breeds. John seemed halfway out of himself as he continuously slugged down the hard shots of whiskey glasses, he was already on number four.

Two of the demonic beauties had their arms all over John, one of them with long fiery red hair, the other short black hair. Roach, Beeman's slouchy brother, had his hand on the blonde demonic half breed, in places that it didn't belong. But not a one of these giggling girls seemed to care where these men touched them, just as long as Roach continued to pay for their drinks and amuse them with his crazy stories of his navy days.

"And then I looked at the guy," he swigged another sip, "and I says to him; you're the ugliest mother fucker that I've ever seen!"

"And what did he say in response?" asked the blonde.

"He said…" Roach glanced at John, noticing the sour expression on his face. "Bloody hell, whatta look!" he laughed, the girls giggling along with him as they too studied John's face. "What's up with you John? Ya look like you've been slapped!"

"I think he looks adorable." said the red head, tickling her long red finger nail beneath John's chin.

"Get your hands off him, I touched him first." said the dark haired half breed.

"_I_ saw him first, bitch." replied the red head.

"You're both bitches, half breed bitches." John pushed the red head out of the booth, allowing himself to stagger off.

"Hey, John! John, hey! That's no bloody way to talk to a lady!…Excuse me girls, I'll be right back." Roach jumped up, chasing after the exorcist.

"Like we care if shorty comes back." they laughed.

"John, come one!" Roach was breathless between each word.

John led Roach to follow him out of the club and into the dark, rain puddled streets.

"John, what the hell was that? Are you fucking insane?"

"Let it go." John replied, the harsh smell of alcohol on his breath.

"John, come on. Did you see the size of their breasts? I mean, they were bloody showing right through those little skimpy blouses. Who gives a damn if they're half breeds or not?"'

"I can't say I recall Beeman ever being as much of a pig as you." John said as he fell into the passenger side of Roach's old red mustang.

"Oh don't shit me, John. Like you're one to talk…you bastard. I'm sorry John, but ya ruined my chance of having a good night of sex. We could've rented a motel room, two of em'…one for you, one for me… could've been a wild night. We can still go back in there."

"Take me home." John said, not even listening to Roach's words.

"Damn you…" the gofer of a man grumbled as he cranked up the old 70's car. "I hope you're happy about spoiling it."

"I didn't come here to pick up women, I came because I needed a drink."

"Ah John, you're pissed because Midnite wouldn't see you."

"Screw Midnite and his club, just drive the fucking car."

_"Every time something doesn't go your way; you have to make sure I suffer too."_ Roach said under his breath.

At times he became rather annoyed by John, annoyed that John's temper seemed to raise and drop at random speeds, coming on like little flashes of light. And the exorcist was always getting himself mixed up in some sort of... crazy mishap, and ever since he had let go of Angela, being around John had been utter hell.

"Sometimes I wonder how my brother could bear being around you; I guess it's lucky he was more collective than I."

"Yeah, too bad he didn't rub off on you a little more." John said with no spark of any sort in his voice.

"Well frankly John, I don't like you much either, and I sure as hell can't stand driving you around."

"You're the one who offered me to join you for a drink."

"I only did it because I knew you needed a lift to Midnite's to begin with…ah, just forget it!"

"I already have."

They arrived back at the bowling alley, which was now Roach's Bowling Alley, though, with all due respect, he still considered it as his beloved, deceased brother's.

They both carried on down the hall to their apartments; Roach still ranting on at John who continued to ignore his half sized ally as he played the keys through the door knob of his dwelling.

"…and for the record John, I help you out a hell of a lot more than you like to give me credit for; just remember who drove you yesterday morning to the old woman's house, and who handed you the crucifix you left in the mustang, and who drove you to get a nice cup of coffee and an order of pancakes afterwards!" Roach jerked his door open, his apartment a little down from John's. "And goodnight to you!" He slammed the door, and John only uttered a little meaningless reply.

"Goodnight." he said, turning in to his own room.

Roach reopened his apartment door, pulling in his unruly beard that had been caught in it when he slammed himself inside the room.

"G- damn bird's nest! If I weren't so damn laid back, I'd chop the bloody thing off!" His voice echoed in the room. Roach was a little weird like that.

John threw his coat off; and before long he found himself sitting in a tub of water, his eyes gazing a the ceiling and then at the rubber ducky that sat on the rim.

After he had submerged Angela in the tub, he had to, well, replace it after the event. It was pretty much the same kind of tub, and Roach had offered to install it for him.

He picked the old squeaky rubber duck up, wondering why he had kept it all these years.

He flipped it over, and when he saw the three letter name marked messily in crayon on the bottom, he remembered.

_K **I**_ T_..._

* * *

The street lights flicked off. It must have been around 6:00 am, and considering that this was southern California, it was a little nippy to be honest. Maybe December had come a little colder this year, or maybe it had to do with all of the deaths that had been occurring lately; the deaths of people who had become demonically invaded, not to mention the lives that had been taken by these possessed people.

Katherine stepped out of the brick row house she called home. She stood on the stoop, locking the door and then pacing down the sidewalk of this old Avenue.

It was one of those neighborhoods that had been here since L.A. was built. A neighborhood of row homes made of brick, a bit plain it was, but most of them were decent.

The sidewalks were blocked by the parking of cars and every now and then you'd see some kids playing basketball in the basketball court that was hugged between a section of these row homes; and if you were unfortunate, you'd spot some gang of unwelcome punks, looking for something to break in to.

It was early now, and the only activity you saw were other people getting ready for their jobs; dead end jobs for the most part; and Katherine was one of these people.

Since her dad had become paralyzed, her uncle Danny had taken over the place, and he and Katherine felt it was their duty to keep the diner going.

She often hid her depression behind her smile, trying to appeal to people that she needed to impress or please, but inside she was tortured, worried…always with the worries. It never seemed to ease from her thoughts; the fact that now, at twenty eight years old, _she_ was the one taking care of the only parent she knew; her dad. Luckily though, she had that kind old lady down the street to help her.

Ms. Ruth often checked in on her dad and Katherine paid her a little here and there for the effort, though Ms. Ruth would've gladly done a favor with no charge, it just made Katherine feel good to be able to give her something in return…even if it _was_ just a little. She didn't have much to give, really.

By noon, Katherine had got off from work at the diner. It was a bit of a slow day, perhaps it was this rainy weather, or maybe the fact that most people were too busy with the holidays now to stop in at the place during the daylight hours.

Normally she would go straight home, but today she was planning to try her luck once more at the Catholic Church. It had been practically impossible getting anyone to talk with her the day before, and she only had so much time to find that perfect story.

It was a lot of pressure, yes, but she was determined.

She soon found herself walking through those great doors once again. She couldn't help but admire the place each time she saw it; it was no doubt elegant, especially with those elaborate paintings of Jesus and those stained glass windows displaying the mother Mary and her baby.

"May I help you miss?" asked that young man who always seemed to be waiting to greet whoever came through the doors of the church's library.

"I was here yesterday, you might remember me..."

"I'm afraid we have so many people coming and going until it is nearly impossible for me to remember new faces." But he was lying, he couldn't really possibly forget a face as desperate as hers.

"I can imagine." she commented. "Well, I need to talk with someone, someone who deals in exorcisms….you see, I'm a journalist looking for a story."

"Ah, perhaps you should speak to Father Garret, he's that gentleman right over there." he pointed, and Katherine stepped over to the man who stood talking to a young couple; apparently discussing marriage within this church.

Katherine waited patiently, and finally the couple left with smiles on their faces as they clutched each other's hands tightly. Seeing their joy made her want to smile for them.

Father Garret however, hadn't noticed the woman waiting to speak to him, and if she hadn't called to him, he might have disappeared right there.

"Father…" her voice echoed.

He turned around, curious at the sight of this stranger.

"Can I help you child?" he asked.

"I'm a journalist,"

"Wait, you're the one looking for a story on exorcisms? They mentioned a journalist coming in yesterday."

"Yes." she said.

"I'm afraid I cannot help you child."

"But I'm also a catholic...if that has anything to do with it..."

"It would matter not, I can't talk to you about the exorcisms that are performed by this ministry."

"Father please, if you'll just give me a moment to…"

"My child, I won't say this again. The answer is no. The church cannot and will not give out any stories concerning such events. The most you can hope for is speaking with the families, not that I can give out their information either."

"But what about all of these recent deaths that have been going on? I feel that the public deserves to know more about this stuff."

"You'll have to go elsewhere. This is not the place."

"Then is there someone else that I can speak with concerning these things? Someone who may actually talk to me?"

Garret sighed, his eyes exchanging themselves about the area and then returning to her brown eyes.

"Perhaps, but…"

"But?" she lifted a brow.

"I don't know where he lives and…I would get on his bad side if I gave his number to a journalist, knowing him…but I know he often patronizes a night club of some sort…I don't know much about the place but it's run by a man who goes by Midnite, if I'm not mistaken. I hate to speak of such things in a house of God, but if you must know, the club is located somewhere around Wall Street. That's all I know."

"Wall Street? Well who is this person that you're referring me to?"

"His name is Constantine, John Constantine. He's an exorcist and a paranormal investigator. He's the one who assists the catholic church with demonic possessions."

"Well," she smiled. "Thank you, Father."

"Just be careful, it's a dangerous place to visit."

"And it's a night club, right?"

"Exactly."

She parted from the church, eager to find this _night club_ that was hidden somewhere around Wall Street.

She returned to her row house to check in on her father. The place was a little empty, and somewhat messy in a few corners, but it was warm, inviting, despite the sadness that seemed to be settled within the home now.

"Dad, I'm home." she said, locking the door, always being sure to lock the door on this street or any L.A. street, really.

She found her way into the den where her dad sat in a wheelchair, hooked up to an oxygen machine…_what a way for such a good man to end up_ was what she always said to herself whenever she looked at him, trying to hold back those tears that played at her eyes.

A bushy, wagging tail of a golden retriever seemed to gently slap her legs as she stood staring at her father. She glanced down, that big drooly tongue and those big chocolate eyes always made her smile no matter how much she wanted to frown.

"Hey, Max. Did you miss me?"

Katherine kneeled down, allowing the dog to give her kisses as she scratched his big ears.

Afterwards, she found herself kissing her father's forehead, though it was useless for him to reply to her in any way, though she still loved him despite anything.

It wasn't his fault, and just because he was paralyzed didn't mean that she wanted to put him away somewhere. If not for her father loving her to death all of her life, she wouldn't be half the woman she was today, and she felt that she owed him the same amount of devotion that he always gave to her with an open heart.

Her dad had to play the role of both a father and a mother in a way, because Katherine barely even remembered her mom, who walked out on them when she was a toddler.

She glanced out the window of the house, seeing that it was beginning to rain heavily and thunder outside.

"Oh no," she sighed, pulling herself close to the bay window, "...looks like I'll have to wait until the rain eases off before I can go to that night club…gosh, I didn't want to go there tonight."

She wandered upstairs, throwing herself on the bed, wondering how much more of this grey weather she could stand.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	4. Chapter IV: I Remember

**CHAPTER IV: I Remember**

The scene had been roped off. There was the flashing lights of red and blue, the sound of cops speaking on their radios.

The house sat empty, it looked far too dark for comfort.

The grieving parents could be heard beneath the engine of the ambulance that they stood by.

The neighbors were all gathered in their yards, shocked and bewildered by what had happened, what they had seen, what they had heard.

The two priests stepped off from the porch, slowly making their way to the parents to speak with them. There were blood spats on their faces, and bloody crucifixes in their hands.

"Angela?" she thought she heard a voice.

"Angela?" there it went again, though it hadn't quite brought her out of the dark images that plagued her.

"Angie? Angie?"

Finally she turned around, seeing Detective Weiss looking at her with dismay, his arm no longer placed in a sling as it was some time ago.

"Weiss…" she uttered back.

"Angie, what the hell is happening here?"

"I wish I knew." she confessed.

"What's wrong with this damn city? Bad enough we've had five cases of adult deaths; now we're having little children too?" He was so raged, so angered.

"It's demons," Angela replied, "there's still a lot of them around, apparently."

"What do you mean, _still_?"

"It's just what Constantine told me yesterday. I bumped into him at the church."

They were both sitting in Weiss's car now, driving back to the L.A.P.D. headquarters.

"Angie…" Weiss said at last. She could feel a combination of tension and worry in his voice.

"Yes?" she asked, almost certain that what he was about to say would be unwelcome to her ears.

"I've been talking to the chief detective, and we both think you're overworking yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"Angela, I can see it in your face, hear it in your voice…you're tired."

"Weiss, what the hell are you getting at here?"

"Don't get upset, I'm just worried about you as a partner and a friend. I think you need to work on some different cases…cases that don't involve paranormal activity, or bring up the name _Constantine_."

Angela could feel the heat dropping from her face, the cold overwhelming her body.

"I know what you're thinking;" she began, "that I'm still upset about John."

"Angela, I know you had feelings for that man. You haven't been completely _there_ since you decided to branch off from him."

"We never really had anything to begin with." she replied, becomming more bitter with the thought of John by the moment.

"And maybe that's why you need to get your mind off from this guy."

"Sometimes I can't help but feel like you, and even Father Garret are trying to protect me from some _bad boy_. I'm a grown woman who can make her own decisions, and it just so happens that none of my decisions include John Constantine."

"Well, I just don't want you to get so upset by something that it disrupts your whole life. I mean well."

"I guess you do." she said quietly.

"We're cops, Angela…we have a mission to protect the innocent by solving cases. And neither of us can afford to let something distract us."

She didn't reply. She only sat quietly as they continued to drive.

* * *

Katherine must have been wandering through the downtown streets like a blind woman for over an hour now, trying to figure out where this club could be.

She had asked several people, but no one seemed to know, or have the time to remember.

"I'm getting nowhere with this." she sighed, almost throwing herself against the corner's brick wall. She felt alone, but there were plenty of people walking on the sidewalks in front of her; and she just stood there for a while watching them pass by as she rested in between two buildings that were separated by a street leading into a darker area.

"Hey, hey are you lost?" the voice almost startled her because she was so drowned inside of her own mind.

"Me?" Katherine asked, turning around to see a young woman about her age approaching.

She had a devious grin, a grin that made Katherine feel a little sick, and the way her hazel eyes glared into Katherine's made her feel like the woman was digging into her very soul.

She wore a skimpy outfit and she had her long brown hair hanging down all over her, and she must have noticed how Katherine was dressed, because why else would she ask this next question?

"You must be looking for a club, am I right?"

"Well actually," Katherine hesitated a little, "I am. A club owned by someone named Midnite, I think?"

"I know that place like the back of my hand. Let me take you."

Katherine couldn't help feeling suspicious, though she tried to hide it. It just seemed a little strange how this woman was so eager to find her, and so willing to escort her, but she pushed her paranoia aside. She didn't think there was any other choice but to let this stranger take her to her destination.

"Alright." she gave in to the strange brunette.

They walked on, slowly leaving the light of the downtown shopping district and pacing through the darker, more lonely streets.

"I'm Ellie, what's your name?"

Katherine finally decided to answer, after releasing her gaze from the hobo pushing the buggy, and the two street freaks sitting on a stoop literally stripping off as they made violent love.

"I'm Katherine Ryan." she said, her eyes still wandering around this dark side of the streets that she felt so out of place in.

The further they walked, the more Katherine wanted to forget the whole thing and go home.

"_No wonder he said to be careful…" _she said quietly, remembering what Garret had said.

"What was that?" Ellie asked.

"Oh," Katherine faked a smile, "nothing... just thinking out loud."

"Oh…so, you new around here? You're certainly not a…."

Katherine eyed her, wondering what it was that she _wasn't_.

"…never mind." Ellie cut her own sentence off before even finishing it.

"Were you about to say something?" Katherine asked.

"No. It's just not everyday you see someone like _you _around _here_."

She pondered on what Ellie meant exactly, but she didn't really want to ask. She was far too nervous as it was.

"That's the club up ahead, but it's unlikely you'll get in."

"What do you mean? Do I have to be a member?"

The two women stood some good distance from the entrance before continuing their walk, studying the small group of society outcasts that seemed to mingle outside of the place.

"Well, sort of. The bouncer will hold up a tarot card, and you'll have to guess what's on the other side." Ellie replied.

"Oh god, I could never do that…I'm not familiar at all with tarot cards. Why do you have to guess what's on a tarot card anyway?"

"Well maybe I can help, but why is a girl like you trying to get into Midnite's club?" Now she was the one giving Katherine the suspicious glare, and she had no intention of explaining to a human outsider why they had to guess what was on a tarot card.

"I'm just looking for someone to talk to about a personal problem." the nervous blonde responded.

_"That was a clever reply, wasn't it?" _Katherine wondered.

"Who?"

Now came the next question from Ellie, _who_?

"An exorcist. I wanted to discuss a paranormal investigation."

"Is this someone, by any chance, oh say, John Constantine?" there seemed to be a malicious hiss in her voice when she said his name.

"Yes."

"I know him. Use to be a lover of mine…the jerk. Come on, I'll help you get into the club."

There was that little nagging thought in the back of Katherine's mind that made her wonder if this woman meant her harm…maybe it was just her essence, maybe it was just this whole place.

As she followed Ellie down the stairs to where the bouncer waited, a sick feeling suddenly came over her, and it was strong. It made her feel like a little girl that had strayed from her parents and somehow ended up in a place where criminals dwelled.

"She's with me." Ellie stated.

"She ain't a half breed." said the oaf.

"I'm not a what?" Katherine asked, looking at them strangely.

"Nothing." Ellie told her. She leaned forward, grabbing the bouncer by the collar of his shirt and pulling him close. "Let her in, or I'll make trouble…you know I'll do it, Adam."

"…Fine…" he growled, holding up a card.

"Two ducks in a pond." Ellie said, almost flirtatiously as she walked in, now leading Katherine by the arm.

"Well, you're in." the brunette smirked.

"Thanks." Katherine said.

"No prob." And Ellie left her, though it felt like her glare was still upon Katherine…as was every other half breed who saw her step in.

Maybe it would have been smarter if she had just asked Ellie where John lived, though she didn't really want to deal with the shady woman any more than she had to.

Katherine paced through the large room, her eyes read: _nervous, lost, afraid._

She was constantly keeping an eye on every stranger that she walked by, all of them eyeing her as if they were deciding when to strike. It made her want to throw up, this whole place, it just made her feel that way.

She tried not to let her legs shake beneath her, and she thought that if she could just keep moving around, no one would notice.

Her eyes continued to search almost hopelessly. She didn't know what John Constantine looked like, all she knew was his name, and strangely that name seemed a little familiar to her, though she didn't know why.

"Excuse me…" she finally asked the bartender.

"What?" he sneered.

"I'm kind of lost."

Her eyes wandered upon the man, taking in every detail of his deformities. His long, clawed fingers frightened her.

"It's a club…" his reply seemed to jerk her from the unintentional staring.

"No, I know where I am. See, I'm looking for a man named John Constantine."

"He ain't here that I know of. Check back some other time."

"Does he come here frequently?"

"Yeah, lately he has."

"Okay."

"_So that's it, I'm just up crap creek." _She turned around, planning to leave, but her face hit the back of a man's coat, causing him to spill his drink.

"What the hell?" he turned around to look at the woman behind him.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry." she stated, seeing that he had gotten some wine on his white shirt.

"Why don't you watch the hell where you're walking?" He spoke harshly towards her.

She glanced up at him, and both of their eyes met…it was awkward, and there was something about this man that was strange, different somehow. And he looked at her as if she was some fool who didn't belong here; and he was right because she didn't.

"I should be going…" she gathered herself, and slowly stepped around him.

The man sat himself on a barstool, still ranting about how stupid she was for bumping into him and making him spill red wine on his nice shirt.

"Hey," he glanced at the bartender, "You got something I can get this off with? Some stupid blonde caused me to ruin my shirt."

"That stupid blonde was asking for ya."

"What?"

"Don't ask me, she just asked for a _John Constantine_."

John sighed, reaching for his wine glass and shrugging his shoulders.

In the blink of an eye, the lights went off in the club, and Katherine found herself confused, still trying to blindly make her way through the tight crowd of moving figures.

Then flashes of blue, green and then blue again kept blinking on and off and the music started playing faster and faster, and pounding harder and harder.

Katherine was scared. She kept trying to escape the suffocation of the dancers, feeling fingers, or were they claws? Pulling and tugging at her, they were touching her, grabbing her, pulling her in and she struggled against them with no success.

"Let go!" she demanded, still fighting for an escape path. "Let go!"

They kept tugging her, and she could have sworn she saw Ellie's eyes upon her somewhere in the back, and they were flaming.

Were those fangs she saw in that man's mouth, the one who had touched her bottom, grasping it in his palm before she pulled away?

Were those claws she felt grasping her long golden hair and her fitted black dress?

Something grabbed her from behind, another male. He wrapped himself around her tightly in the flashes of blue and green, and he breathed hot breath down her neck as she fought to escape him.

Then two more males and a few females began to approach her from the front. Were they going to eat her? Tear into her like a beast of the ravenous nature?

She slipped away, but still found herself trapped within these people, these evil people who now seemed more interested in harming _her_ than they were dancing.

"Get away from me! Get away from me!" she wondered if she'd survive the night.

Then she was grabbed once again by the wrist. She couldn't see who it was, but they looked dark from behind, and they seemed to want to lead her out of the club, into the street, perhaps to devoir her.

When they had escaped the place, it's flashy lights and pounding music, she was somehow relieved to see that man again, that man that she had bumped into at the bar; but now the question remained; what was _he_ planning to do with her?

He continued to walk her down the street, and she felt like she was being dragged along, and he took her somewhere far down, away from everything and everyone and they stopped. What was to happen next? Was he going to punish her for causing him to stain his shirt? She couldn't help eye balling the stain, that big red stain, and then him.

He looked intimidating to her, and he sent a chill down her spine that made her afraid of him; and somehow she still managed to notice that, despite the cold glare in his eyes, he was by no doubt an attractive man.

"Alright," he said, letting go of her and watching as she nearly stumbled in her high heels, "What is it you want?"

"What?" she looked puzzled, and so he decided to explain to her what he meant.

"You were asking for me…the bartender told me so." He reached in his coat for something, it appeared to be candy…no, it was gum.

She was dumbfounded momentarily, and then she remembered that other than nearly being attacked, she had gone there searching for someone.

"Oh, oh yes…yes, I was looking for a Constantine."

She seemed to be holding her head as if it ached her, and then she found her eyes set upon him once more, that same confused stare still settled within her.

"You're Constantine?" there seemed to be a little disbelief there, maybe some embarrassment.

"Yeah that's me, the guy who's shirt you ruined." He loved bringing that up.

"I'll be glad to buy you another one." she stated.

"I may have to let you." That got away with her. Most people would say _forget about it,_ but not this man.

"Why were you in that club? Do you have any ideal how close you came to being prey for a bunch of… monsters?"

"It's the only place that I was told to find you."

"Who told you?"

"A Father Garret?"

He seemed to be unnerved by this.

"You mean he told you to look_ there,_ Of all places?"

"He said he didn't think you'd want him to give out your number, and he didn't seem to know your address either."

"That moron knows where I live…damn sorry….sending some stupid girl to a place like that…" he growled.

"Hey look buster, I'm not stupid, okay? I wanted to talk to you about paranormal investigations."

"Why?"

"Do you think we can talk somewhere else? Like somewhere that's not so shady?" she shivered.

John sighed, looking at her with hesitation.

"Alright. Come on." he said at last.

"Where are we going?" she demanded.

"My place."

"_His place? Why his place?"_

"How about my place?" she asked, but he ignored her.

He led her up the steps, they had already gone through the empty bowling alley.

She found the place eerie, un-homely, cold and somehow, unwelcoming.

The sound of him fitting and twisting the keys into the lock snatched her attention away from eyeing everything around her.

She followed him in, noticing the etching in the door's framing that said: _always a catch_. And to that saying, she agreed.

Within seconds, she was inside the place, taking it all in and staying close to the door as she watched him wander to the table, leaning his lower back against it's edge, eyeing her and making her uncomfortable with his glare, his _care not_ glare.

"So," he started, almost shrugging. "How'd you manage to get in that place to begin with?"

This question seemed to be of importance to him.

"A woman helped me. She actually seemed to know you, said her name was…" she couldn't remember, how did she forget, oh, there it was: "Ellie."

"Ellie? She isn't trustworthy…I wonder why she was so interested in helping _you_. Must have something to do with the fact you wanted to see _me_."

He went searching through the cabinets, pulling out a large bottle of liquor and bringing out a couple of glasses, setting it all on the table and pouring.

"Drink?" he asked her, giving her a lifted brow.

She shook her head, remaining against the door like a frightened deer, her mouth hanging slightly open.

She watched him pull out a chair and seat himself.

"You can come sit down if you want, I don't bite."

But she wondered; everyone else seemed to.

Katherine managed her way to the table where she sat herself across from him, this man who kept his eye upon her even through whiskey sips.

"What do you want?" he asked after sitting the glass back down. "Make it quick."

"…I…I…" she stuttered nervously, as if she were trying to pull herself from some dumb trance, everything that had happened still felt like a bad dream. Things like this just didn't happen to her.

"I…I'm a journalist and…and I'm looking for a story on the recent events concerning exorcisms."

She sounded so stupid to herself, how unprofessional, and then he had to make it worse by looking at her with an almost mocking smirk, as if some laugh could have slipped out of him; him sitting there with that attitude painted on his face, his glass in his hand.

"A story?" he said, looking at her. "Well, I never had a journalist come to me looking for a story."

"I just want you to tell me about the things you've been experiencing, in your work…Mr. Constantine, I couldn't get anything out of the church and, I need this story; it's the only hope I have for ensuring a steady career so I can take care of my dad and me."

"_Did I just do that? Did I just partly spill my heart out to this arrogant man?" _she pondered.

"Hmmm…" he was glancing off from her now, running his finger around the rim of his whiskey glass, still wearing that stained shirt beneath his tie, his coat now removed from him.

He seemed to be amusing himself, trying to conjure something in his mind. Then suddenly he glanced back at her, laying his hand on the table.

"So what's in it for me?"

She opened her mouth, hanging it open and waiting for something to come out.

"…Well," she spoke after hesitating, "what do you want?" she was a little curious.

"What do you have to offer?" He seemed impossible.

"I guess…" she rounded her eyes about the ceiling, and then back towards him. "Money, lunch? A new shirt?" she glanced at the stain, and his eyes wandered down upon it too. "But I'm not rich, I don't have much…"

He shrugged a little in his seat; and it displeased her to find his eyes briefly glaring at her chest, and then back at her.

She stood up from the table.

"You know, I'm sorry I've wasted my time here." she said.

"I can't give you a story." he said, sipping once more from his glass, his face looked unshaved somewhat, a little stubble there. "You've really wasted _my_ time."

"_Your_ time?" she lifted a brow, looking at this man before her who seemed like he just didn't care, didn't care for anything or anyone.

He jumped; she had slammed her hands on the table, and now it was _her_ returning to _him_ that cold glare.

John lifted a brow to this young woman.

"You must think you've done me some sort of favor? And you must be so full of yourself and that liquor right now until you think I'm just your average little air headed slut looking for attention and hand outs. Well I'm getting sick and tired Mr. Constantine, sick and tired of men like you looking at me indecently, ignoring me, just because you think I'm some poor little thing who needs to quit trying to be smart and just go get me a job in a strip joint; I know how you men think of nice looking women, and it's not going to happen because I intend to follow my goals and succeed!"

She inhaled. All that she had said, the way she spoke it and the way he looked at her, it made her breathless and she felt shaky.

There was silence, and then John got tired of the staring and decided to break that silence.

"Are you done?" he finally asked. That was it, that was all he had to say?

The young woman didn't reply, she just grabbed her purse and stormed out the door, stomping down the empty hallway.

Though, to his surprise, she bursted back inside within a matter of seconds.

"Back so soon?" he asked her, curiously.

"I just remembered something. A journalist never gives up until they've got what they came for."

He gave her a sharp, stern look, a look that told her that he didn't want her in his apartment; but she didn't care.

"I don't think you told me your name." he said.

"Katherine Ryan." she replied.

"Funny...that name sounds a little familiar."

"Familiar?" she had a curious look on her face. "You know, I must say that your name sounded a little familiar to me as well."

"Well there's a lot of Johns around, and Katherines too." he stood up.

"Wait here. I need to get a clean shirt." he was starting for the door.

"Don't you have a shirt in here? I can step out of you want."

"My laundry's downstairs in the dryer."

He shut the door behind him, leaving the young woman alone in his dwelling.

Katherine began to walk around, glancing at his bed, the phone on the kitchen wall, the rutty kitchen itself and the lineup of water bottles against the window.

Then it crossed her: this was a good time to use his bathroom while he was out.

The bathroom looked old, tattered and worn. She looked at the sink, the toilet and then at the tub.

There was something about that little rubber ducky, the one placed on the rim of the tub, that had her smiling and she didn't know why. All she knew was that it seemed to draw her to want to pick it up, hold it, feel it.

She gasped, remembering something that she almost forgot so many years ago.

She turned it over, and sure enough, there was her name: Kit.

"My god..." she uttered.

She must have stood there for more than five minutes, just studying the rubber duck, her name, and re-capturing the memories hidden in her mind, putting two and two together as she did.

"What are you doing?" his voice frightened her. He had on a fresh shirt, the same kind as the one before, and he was holding a basket of white towels and shirts and black folded pants.

She turned around, looking at him with the rubber duck in her hand, and now _he_ was stunned.

"You... You're John...I remember now." there was a smile tugging at her lips.

"Kit?" he asked her.

"Yeah." she replied.

"The little girl who lived next door to me. The one I never could run off."

She almost laughed at the memory.

"I was five and you were about fourteen, in and out of that institution almost all the time."

"And you seemed to always know. Always know what I was going through. You knew a lot for a pesky little girl."

"I did, didn't I?" now her voice was almost solemn, as was her expression.

"You use to tell me your mother was an angel."

"I'm afraid I don't recall that." she stated.

"Dreams. You use to have weird dreams." he said.

There was a moment of silence between them, both of them staring at each other, recalling the memories of a year's worth of aquaintance.

"John," she said finally, "Why don't I buy you dinner and maybe you can forgive me for your shirt."

"If you buy me dinner, I may just consider doing that."

They found themselves walking out of the Bowl, Bowl, Bowl, bowling alley and into those dark, dark, dark streets. The air seemed so still, and yet so cold.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	5. Chapter V: Tales Of The Dead

**CHAPTER V: Tales Of The Dead**

He sat across from her in the small Chinese restaurant. Seeing how he gormandized the sushi somewhat amazed her, and somehow he still managed to speak. She hadn't even had time to take her eyes off from him long enough to take a bite of the rice that was getting colder by the second.

The sound of traffic roaring in the streets outside, the moon fighting to peer out of the rain clouds that still dwelled, and inside there was the atmosphere of little china with the Chinese pop music playing; and somehow it seemed so much more safer in that little place than it did outside in Los Angeles' unpredictable streets.

She sat, staring at him and listening carefully each time he replied to her questions.

"John, the bouncer in the club, he mentioned something to that Ellie girl about me not being a half breed…what did he mean by that, and what was with all of those people in that place? What was with the bartender? He looked mutated."

"Half breeds…" John replied after a moment of thinking. "It's probably nothing that should concern you Kit, though what I can say is that evil walks amongst us."

She couldn't help but feel flattered that he still referred to her as _Kit_. He was the only person besides her father that called her that.

"Half breeds? Well what are they, are they vampires? Are they half vampires? I'm starting to wonder because they acted like they wanted to eat me; and maybe this sounds crazy and over-imaginative, but that Ellie; I saw her eyes glowing red, and I know I wasn't seeing things, unless she just used some sort of illusion to freak me out…which it worked."

John paused from his eating, wiping his mouth with his napkin and eyeing her with great curiosity.

"You saw her eyes glow?" He asked, as if he were interrogating her. "What else did you see, Ms. Ryan?"

The question made her nervous, confused.

"I don't understand…"

"Did you see anything other than glowing eyes and ravenous people?"

"No." she replied.

After giving her another moment of his eyes, he returned to his eating and all seemed to be well again.

"John, can you continue telling me about the recent events you've been caught up in with the exorcisms? Like about the things that started happening after you exorcised that one demon out of the little boy and found the gateway inside the barn…It's important I get a good story for the paper."

"…Well," John cleared his throat. "The unexpected... it was becoming a common theme of the evening…" He said, recalling an event that had taken place about a day after the incident with the kid. "I got another call from Father Garret while I was in Midnite's club…"

"_Hey Constantine, somebody wants to talk to yas, maybe the cards weren't lying." The bartender handed him the phone._

"_John, I need you to meet me…." Garret's voice was broken up over the line._

"…yeah, I was hoping for a quiet night; but it wasn't in the cards."

"_Damn you, Constantine! You owe me for that wasted drink!" sneered the demonic bartender, his three clawed fist waving in the air as he watched the exorcist leave the place. The tarot cards remained on the table, untouched and one of them was burning. The bar was quiet that night, empty._

"_I've been damned by worse, much worse." John replied under his breath. _

"And then the rains came…a cleansing rain, or one could hope. But someone was playing games with me."

_John stood alone in the dark street with only the company of his crucifix tommy gun. His eyes scanned the old car, parked there before him in the chain fenced yard. There was the uttering of a frightened voice coming from inside the vehicle._

"_I'm gonna call the cops!" the man threatened._

_John stepped inside the fenced yard, trying to make out the sounds and voices he heard._

_And then the car was tipped over violently, and a shadowed figure crawled out of the old yard, and John chased after it._

_He carried on into the abandoned warehouse where he struggled to keep up with the shadowed movements. _

_The snarls, he could hear them echoing about the place._

_He climbed up a metal ladder, opening the hatch and finding himself on the roof…and there it was, just before leaping off. John took his aim and fired._

"But that was only my first encounter for the night…the real hell was waiting for me upstairs in the next building."

_There were scratches, scratches at the woman's door, like claws trying to shred through the wood._

_The elderly woman peered out of the apartment door, she was a frail little thing with glasses and a night cap over her hair._

"_Who are you?" she asked, searching for a face, perhaps an animal. The room behind her was slowly flaming in red and the sudden change in temperature sent a terrible chill up her spine. _

_She stood in the open doorway, and two large hands, demonic, dead-looking hands came from behind, grabbing her and violently pulling the old woman inside._

_She gasped, trying to struggle against the zombie-like being, who's head bared a great crater of rot, and it's gangly skin looked almost green. The door was slammed shut, and everything suddenly grew quiet._

_John raced upstairs, finding himself alone in the hallway with his gun still at his side…but he had come too late to save the old woman._

_He looked around, slowly pacing down towards the other end, and then he heard the sound; glass breaking against a wall, and the brief but horrible bellows of a victim; b__ut before the exorcist was given a chance, the lights went out, and everything was dark, and he knew he had seen moving figures on the stairway up ahead; though now he could see nothing._

_Something was moving, coming towards him. It sounded almost like several spiders on the walls and floor. _

_John leaned his gun against the wall, pulling out a rag and quickly wrapping it about his hand as the movements and hissing sounds drew closer._

_The rag was lit, and John winced as the bright light shattered the three wall crawlers. _

_The sulfur odored flame had died down and the apartment lights eased back on. _

_Now the fire sensors had come on, and from the ceiling, water was showered onto the floor._

_John ventured on up the stairway, still following the sounds of a snarling demon, and down another long hall until he came to a metal door with a small, square glass cut out. He had heard the door slam shut, and he knew that something had run out._

_He pushed through, finding himself on the first level roof. And he ran across, climbing through a shattered window and ending up in yet another warehouse._

_It was dark, and there was a coldness in the place and a stench to go with it. _

_He raced down the dark stairway, almost blindly, thinking that he must have been running around in circles trying to follow the movements he heard up ahead of him, but he kept moving until he found a lighted room with a glass wall, but there was no moment of peace, crawling scavengers slowly surrounded him, and now it was time to blow them back to hell with his gun._

_Four of them were shot dead, but one lashed out, clutching his throat just long enough to claw him before he threw it off and offered it some of the remaining ammo._

_John stared at the disintegrating bodies for a moment, trying to take in what they really were. _

_"These don't look like soldier demons..." he uttered in his confusion. Now he was even more uncertain of things._

_He found a door that led him out into the streets, and there on the warehouse steps was Father Garret, looking over whelmed at the sight and sound of the police sirens. _

_Garret turned around, looking at John grimly._

"_John…" he said. _

"_Garret, I just faced off against some unusual demons. I don't think I've ever seen anything like them. They were like zombies..."_

"…_In the open?" Garret's eyes looked wild, as if he wasn't quite himself, and his reply alone made John feel uneasy in his presence._

"_So how many of them, half breeds, did you manage to get rid of?" the Father asked, after realizing that he had made John somewhat leery of him._

"_Not half breeds, Garret! This was something else!"_

"_Impossible Constantine…you must be mistaken." _

_John stood and watched as the stunned Father walked down from the warehouse steps; and over his head, John saw bodies being carried out of the next building, being placed into the ambulances. There must have been three or four. _

"So that explains those little scratches on your neck?" Katherine asked.

"Yeah…you know, there's something about Father Garret that bothered me."

"What?"

"His attitude. It's almost like he wanted to turn a blind eye to it all; pretend it wasn't happening… damn hypocrite. He's the one who called me on the scene to start with."

"You said the demons you encountered looked like zombies..."

"My theory is that they could be using dead bodies to hide in. It probably wouldn't hurt if one of us checked out some cemetaries, see if anything's been dug up."

"And morgues."

"No, not morgues. These bodies were old, so old that they were hard to classify as human bodies."

"Maybe we should both look into it...together I mean." Katherine wasn't one to visit morgues or cemetaries by herself.

"We'll check in to it this weekend."

A Chinese girl brought them their ticket and after she walked off, John tossed a twenty dollar bill on the table.

"Hey, I thought I was supposed to buy."

"Forget it." John told her.

"…but…"

He stood up from the table, making his way back out into the downtown streets, and she was obligated to follow.

"John…"

"What?"

"I didn't mind paying for that, I mean, I did kind of ruin your shirt."

"I said forget it…I have several of these shirts."

"…but…"

"Tell me where you live so I can walk you home, unless you plan on taking a cab."

"I can take a cab…"

"Well I gave you a story, so maybe you can do something with it and make a good article." He said.

"I hope so…do you want me to leave you as anonymous?"

"That would be best. This is where we part."

"Oh, right."

"What are you looking at me like that for?" he demanded.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know; you look like you were expecting something more…that's all I've got for you."

"Well geesh, excuse me for glancing. I was just going to say goodbye."

"Well bye then... Here's my number, just call me in a couple of days and I'll see what we can do about looking into this. I need to know what's going on."

He turned away before she even had a chance to thank him, and he left her on the sidewalk; the more lively part of town at least.

She stood there for a while, watching him slowly vanish into the small crowds of people, his coat swaying about him as he walked. She thought about how different he was now, how much older he was, and she wondered how he thought of her now that she was older herself.

The fact that he had kept that rubber duck all of these years made her respect him as a person.

She was sitting in the back of a taxi cab now, recalling the last memory she had of John Constantine.

_"Daddy,"_

_"Yeah, Kit?" he asked, smiling at the little girl in the back seat as he glanced into the rear view mirror._

_"Are we going to stop by the hospital so I can tell John goodbye?"_

_"Of course, kiddo." _

_Everyone that knew her, expecially her dad, found her an amusing child because she seemed so smart for a five year old, expressing herself better than some second and third graders._

_They had arrived at Ravenscar, both of them knowing that_ _John's parents kept him here most all of the time, seeming to be certain that he had severe mental dysfunctions, claiming that he "saw" things._

_"Mrs. Constantine..." Mr. Ryan smiled, seeing the woman sitting in the waiting room._

_"Oh, hello Mr. Ryan. Hello Katherine, you look adorable in that little dress."_

_Katherine blushed, only giving Mrs. Constantine a brief half smile._

_"She's been quite persistent on telling your son goodbye before we leave."_

_"Oh how thoughtful...It's really a shame to lose such good neighbors. I think you guys are the only ones on the street that don't have a bad reputation."_

_The adults chuckled._

_"I'm waiting on John now." she said. "Oh, here he comes."_

_She stood up, walking over to her son as Mr. Ryan and his daughter remained seated._

_She reached out to take his arm, but John jerked away from her. He looked terribly pale and exhausted. His unruly long hair was hanging down on his shoulders._

_"John," she whispered._

_"What?" he snapped, eyeing his mother coldly._

_"You know that our neighbors are moving today. Little Katherine wanted to say goodbye to you."_

_"I wish that kid would leave me alone."_

_"Be nice, John."_

_Katherine approached him, and his mother returned to her seat next to Mr. Ryan._

_"Hi John." she said, looking up at him with her backpack in her arms._

_"Hey." he replied with little interest in speaking._

_"I wanted to give you something to remember me by."_

_"Why would I want to remember a pain like you?" he replied._

_She scrunched her brows at him, wondering if she was supposed to cry or laugh._

_"I'm just joking." he said, lightly tapping her shoulder. "What is it you wanna give me?" he knelt down to her level._

_"This..." she plundered into her backpack, pulling out what appeared to be a rubber duck._

_"A rubber ducky?" a smile was tugging at his lips. "I might have suspected something like this from a baby."_

_"I'm not a baby..." she laughed. "It has my name on the bottom."_

_"Kit, why this?"_

_"It's special to me. My mom bought it for me, when I was younger." she looked down, knowing she had reminded herself once again that her mother was gone._

_"I can't take it...it's your's. You should keep it." he offered to give it back to her._

_"No!" she said, pushing his hand and the rubber toy away. "I want you to keep it. I'll be gladder, I mean, happier, if it stays with you."_

_"...alright." he sighed, knowing that there was no arguing with this kid._

_"I guess I better go, I think daddy's getting ready to leave."_

_"Thanks Kit." John said._

_She wrapped her arms around him, and even though he had grown un-fond of hugs, this was one hug he couldn't help but return._

Katherine smiled. She never even guessed that she would cross paths with him again.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	6. Chapter VI: The Dream That Haunts Me

**CHAPTER VI: The Dream That Haunts Me**

She laid still, her body felt cold and numb and if she tried to move, she couldn't.

Somehow she felt like a statue, like nothing of her was real, there was no smell, no sight, no sounds…she felt nothing from her nerves, all she knew was that she was laying on her back, and everything was dark.

Suddenly, she realized that she could faintly make out several voices speaking over her, though at first it was hard to make out what they were saying…and then she suddenly felt wet, and she could tell that she was floating, and she could make out their words.

"So what do we tell her?"

"What?"

"I said, how the hell do we break this to her sister?"

"The same way you would anyone."

"So what the hell do you make of it?"

"It was clearly suicide, no doubt about that."

She wanted to open her eyes, see what was going on, see what these familiar voices were talking about, but then another voice seemed to drown them out, seemed to take her away and put her somewhere lonely and quiet, somewhere where she was all by herself.

"_Angela…" _it whispered like a wind blowing in through an open window. _"Angela…"_

She shot her eyes open, thrusting her body upwards and looking around her. She was there, laying in a cold hospital room. The lights were out and it was dark and she was in a patient's gown.

She glanced on one side of the wall where she saw a cross hanging, and then she noticed a hospital band on her wrist that read the following name: Angela Dodson.

"_Angela…" _There went that voice again, that voice that wanted her to follow it. _"Angela…"_

She slowly climbed out of the bed, making her way to the door where the voice seemed to be calling her.

She followed it up the stairs, not even thinking twice about turning back or trying to stay somewhere safe.

"_Angela…Angela…."_

She carried on up the stairs where she came to a door, a door that she pushed open; and she ran out to the edge of the roof's balcony, not to over look the city, but to stare blankly down into the glass dome.

She began to pant, she began to turn sick, and she felt colder than before, and she began to lose all strength from her body, all awareness from her mind. She felt herself slowly easing forward like a vase about to fall from a table.

"Oh god…" was all she could do, _Oh God_ was all she could say.

She hit the glass and she could feel it slicing and stinging her as it cut through her skin.

Angela tumbled onto the floor, soon re-gaining consciousness from the nightmare and realizing that she must have fallen asleep on the couch. Gone With The Wind was still on television and Duck was still napping peacefully in his cat condo, only opening one eye slightly to see that she was alright.

Her mouth was hanging open as she pulled her hair out of her face during her breathlessness. Her eyes were wavering about, and it seemed to take her a moment's time to realize that she _was_ just dreaming.

She clutched the arm of the sofa, pulling herself up onto the cushion.

"Isabel…" she finally said. "Isabel…why do you still plague my mind? If your soul has found peace within heaven's gates, then why can't I find my own peace?"

She glanced over at the table beside her, lifting up the photo of her sister and holding it against her chest, a small tear falling from her eye.

Angela still felt some guilt for her sister. Guilt for neglecting her, pushing her out of her life for so long and leaving her to fend for herself. The only peace she could find now was that John had helped Isabel find the light by saving her soul from hell's gates.

It was hard though, having to go on without someone you were once so close to, so close to in fact, that you both knew what the other was thinking, what the other was feeling.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	7. Chapter VII: Talk To Me

**CHAPTER VII: Talk To Me**

There was music playing in the background. There were half breeds leaned against the bar, talking, plotting, laughing, drinking…and the remaining sat at the booths, round tables and the others walked about.

Tonight, the room hued an almost pink atmospheric lighting, possibly from the purple neon light rods that hung above the bar; and moving shadows seemed to dance along those little disco mirrored square tiles that made up the wide columns throughout the room each time a half breed walked by them.

It wasn't long though before all of the cheer and partying was silenced when the door in the back had been slammed open and a man stepped out, entering the center of the club, and everyone stopped, now only speaking quickly in hushed whispers, wondering why he had that look on his face, wondering why he had violently thrust himself into the room, looking at them all as if they had committed some crime against him.

His hat shadowed his scrunched brows, and the light seemed to expose the little grey hairs on his goatee rather well, and he carried himself quite good in that long velvet coat with that fitted colorful shirt he wore beneath it. The jewelry on his wrist, the chain hanging from his belt, that strange, symbolic necklace on his neck gleamed like little dashes of gold and silver, though it was hard to make out for sure what his jewelry was made of to be exact, judging by the lighting of course…

His eyes wavered about, glaring coldly upon each half breed he saw around him. None of them seemed brave enough to question him, or anger him for that matter, and as he gazed at them one by one, he gritted his teeth and clutched his fist.

Then they saw steam, steam ceasing out from the tight clutch of each of his fists, the veins in his neck seemed to be bulging out, almost like snakes embedded within his flesh.

"Who is it!" His voice was like the roar of a lion, an angry, threatened lion.

"WHO IS IT!" This time it was harder, deeper, louder. The half breeds remained silent, and their expressions read: _confusion_.

"Tell me? What the fuck is going on here?" He demanded once more. "Huh?!"

The room still retained it's silence, and no one seemed to know what to say, how to react, but they knew better than to walk out.

Then someone else came into the room, someone clad in a white shirt with his sleeves rolled up, and beside him stood a shorter man, almost hobo like.

"Hello, Midnight…"

Midnite looked this man in the eye, this man who had stepped into his club, witnessing the witch doctor's anger.

"John." he replied.

Everyone remained against the safety of the bar, and now there was an atmosphere similar to what one might see in a ghost town in days of old, with two bandits about to fire their pistols any minute now, either at each other or at the civilians watching them.

"Word is, you were attacked tonight."

"Who told you?" Midnite asked.

"Your ring, and the remains of six dead bodies in the alley on my way here." John said, now holding a shining gold ring between his thumb and index finger.

The exorcist tossed the ring towards the witchdoctor, who quickly snatched it into his hand without even looking at it...No, his eyes were still on John.

"You leave quite a mess behind you, Midnite."

"Do I, John?" now there was a small smirk tugging at the witch doctor's lips as he slipped the ring back onto his finger. He must have been in too much of a haste to notice it was missing before. "And what about the messes you leave behind?"

"You're wasting your time with these half breeds. None of them know anything."

"And what makes _you_ so certain?"

"Their faces…they look pretty innocent for something spawned from that shit hole they call hell." John sneered at the club dwellers on his left.

"Well," Midnite placed his hands upon his hips, pushing his coat behind him as he did so. "Maybe you need to come and talk to me in my office."

"That's what I've been trying to do for a while now; pity you had to witness what you did before you decided to quit putting me off."

"Everyone, continue what you were doing, this didn't happen." Midnite growled as John and Roach followed him into his office.

They might have been dare some enough to play games with John at times, but if one thing was for sure, it was that the half breeds very seldom found the guts to trifle with Midnite.

The office room felt warm, uncomfortably warm.

And when the door was shut behind them, the noise of the club was too; though it had been rather quiet since Midnite's outbreak.

The two men sat opposite each other, each of their dark eyes sizing the other up across the desk. Roach remained seated near John.

"Talk to me." Midnite said, placing a fresh cigar into his mouth and lighting it.

"Demons Midnite, they're lose all over Los Angeles…you've heard about the recurring deaths of possessed victims. And I'm thinking that they're using dead bodies to play their little games in too now."

"Yes John. Now tell me how this all started, when you became aware of it."

"No more than a few days ago. Father Garret asked me to go to a house where a little boy was demonically invaded. Come to find out, it was a soldier demon, and so I disposed of it. The kid spoke of a secret hiding place of the demon's; an old well hidden inside a barn…there was a pentagram drawn around the hatch, and I soon found out from the kid's brother in-law that the rental house where the barn was, was originally rented by a couple who obviously drabbled in the occult…or so the locals say."

"So a gateway was opened?"

"Yeah."

"Gateways are opened all of the time John…but it doesn't explain the large numbers of demons here in the city."

"No it doesn't…unless someone wants revenge."

"Revenge John? Why revenge?"

"Who knows, maybe Balthazar has crept his way back into the picture."

"I doubt it to be Balthazar. He is long gone from the way I see it."

"You don't have enough proof to doubt anything."

"And you have not enough to blame."

John became angry, angry that Midnite just sat there with a nonchalant _I can't do anything_ attitude. He flung himself up from the seat, and slammed his fists onto the table before the witchdoctor. Roach remained quiet.

"People are fucking dying, Midnite! They're getting killed left and right! I saw them tote out the remains of an old lady, another woman, a baby and a little boy just recently from an apartment building! And I couldn't do anything to prevent it because I didn't get there fast enough, and the damn asshole I'm working with now, David Garret, is a damn contradictory hypocrite who doesn't know if he's coming or going and doesn't really want to admit that these things are happening!"

Midnite stared into his face blandly just before releasing that stare and taking his cigar out of his mouth to lay it into the ash tray.

"…So, let me guess; you want to use the chair again so you can put this new puzzle together…am I speaking correctly?"

"I may have to."

"No John. It's too risky."

"I'm aware of the risks, G-dammit! I've used it before."

"That was because you needed to know about the spear. This is a different situation and the answer is no. It's too early, and we know not where we stand…"

"Exactly, that's why you need to give in, Midnite."

"You're making me angry, John. I need you to leave right now."

John just looked at him, not quite knowing how to respond to this.

"Sometimes I wonder if you're trustworthy yourself." And that was all the exorcist said before leaving the office.

"Uh…nice seeing you, Midnite." Roach uttered as he jumped to his feet and followed John out the door.

The witchdoctor remained seated, his fists clutched together on the desk and his expression bland. Then the door slammed shut, and Midnite's face was seen no more that night.

"So what now, John? Who do we go to now?" Roach asked as he and John carried on down the street.

"I don't know."

"What do you fucking mean you don't know? You're supposed to know, you're John Constantine, the man who works in this field!"

"I don't have the answers to every fucking situation…I'm not super man and I sure as hell ain't God."

"I know _that_. But where do we go now? Who else is there that we can see?"

"No one…"

"Well where we goin'?"

"To a lounge."

"A lounge? What for, John? You could have got a drink back there!"

"I'm not patronizing his club anymore until he learns to cooperate."

"Do you really need more liquor in you, man? I mean, seriously."

"I'm thirsty."

"Then how's about a nice lemonade or tea, or even a milk shake?"

"Liquor helps me think."

"Helps you think? Don't start shittin' me, John. Liquor don't help you think, it makes you whiny and-and morbid."

"Just shut up…you wouldn't have it any better. You like to drink and hook up don't you?"

"Sometimes, but…"

"Then what's the complaining for?" John asked, lifting a brow to him, his deep colored lips half parted in the bright lights of the city.

"Well before you get ticked off at Midnite because he's not ready to take sides _again_, you might want to consider that he may have a few cards up his sleeves, you know? Maybe he's more on it than you think…"

John didn't comment, and it was no surprise to see both of them walking past some drunken bum in the quieter streets of downtown, pushing through the doors of an old brick building that said: Cantina's Lounge.

The place had a fine line up of old brick walls, a mahogany liquor shelf behind the sleek, shiny bar table; it's leather stools slightly high off the floor with their metal foot rests.

It was quiet, small, somewhat classy…there was Spanish music playing subtly in the background with maybe two couples lingering here and there and a very small group of gangster-looking outcasts at the end of the bar, almost huddled over their drinks.

The bartender was a casual man of the Hispanic type, well dressed and clean cut.

"Nice atmosphere." John seemed to notice as he and Roach sat down at the bar. "Much more welcoming than Midnite's." So it was an opportunity to put Midnite down that seemed to bring out his interest in the place.

"Pretty nice I guess, if you can over look those three blokes down there, as well as afford these prices."

"How do you know the prices? You been here?"

"No, but you know it's expensive, look at this place."

"Good liquor always costs in L.A."

_"Hmmm…guess you have to spend that money you make on exorcisms somewhere."_

"What did you say?" John demanded, raising his hand and getting ready to slap Roach upside the head.

"Nothing John." He snickered.

"Why don't you keep your filthy mouth shut, and maybe you'll be able to avoid getting hit, you insect."

The bartender approached them, still wiping a wine glass with a white towel.

"Can I get you gentlemen something?" His English sounded rather good with that fluent accent of his.

"…Gentlemen, huh? …Something else you don't find at Midnite's…although I have to tell you that this thing sitting next to me is anything BUT a gentleman." John said with sarcasm, pointing at Roach with his thumb.

The bartender lifted a brow in confusion and Roach burst into a hissing laughter.

"Just bring me a shot of vodka." John requested in a gruff voice.

"I'll…I'll take…I'll take a red wine!" Roach laughed.

"And you'll pay for it." John uttered.

The bartender nodded and walked off to make the drinks.

The thought that he was actually going to have to pay for something seemed to silence Roach's annoying laughs that had everyone's eyes on him.

The bartender took little time bringing them their drinks, and John and Roach took no time at all swigging down the first good gulp.

"John Constantine…what a surprise."

John looked behind him, seeing Ellie dressed in a red dress, her hair hanging down like always with little strands hugging her cheeks.

"Ellie…funny having _you_ follow me here."

"_Follow_ you?"

"No point in denial. Why not sit down? I'll buy you a drink."

"Does this mean you're forgiving me?" she asked with a devious grin as she made herself comfortable beside her ex.

"Of course not. I can't stand you, and I sure as hell don't trust you."

"Then why buy me a drink?"

"Hey bartender, bring this lovely lady here a white wine, you still drink white wine don't you, Ellie?"

"I drink pretty much anything. You sure you wanna buy me a wine, John?"

"Sure I'm sure. So, what's been going on? How are you? How's life been treating you? And what do you know about demons running lose again?"

"I thought you'd ask…nothing John. I know nothing."

"Lies."

"Truth, actually. If I was up to something, I wouldn't even be sitting next to you right now…but I might be waiting outside with a knife." she grinned, somewhat liking the ideal.

"Sounds believable. Though you could still have one hid in your stocking."

"Ooh, you're a naughty boy, John…you really set me on fire." she said with a small red glow in her eyes.

The bartender brought her the requested drink.

"Let's have a toast shall we?" she asked, holding her glass in the air.

"To what?" John wanted to know.

"Forgiveness."

"Half breeds and forgiveness?…Never thought it possible for those two things to mix…it's like caster oil and coffee."

"To us..." Ellie over spoke him.

John shook his head, a slight laugh coming out of him. He gave in, clinging his glass to hers. They both sipped the glasses, their eyes diving deep into each other's souls; or at least that fact would be true if Ellie was to have one.

"So who's the runt?" she asked, referring to Roach who hadn't yet removed his eyes from the sight of her bra that was slightly showing through her dress.

"Don't ask…he's Beeman's brother, Roach. Owns the alley now, haven't been able to get rid of him since."

"Funny, I figured you might have found it in a dumpster somewhere." She said, licking her red painted lips.

"Huh? What? You two talkin' bout' me?" Roach asked, finally regaining awareness that there were other things going on around him that didn't involve a woman's breasts.

Ellie rolled her eyes as she turned to admire the fine paint job on her deep red nails with their small coat of glitter flickering about as she moved them.

"Tell me," John began, "Did you by any chance lead Katherine Ryan into Midnite's club to watch her get devoured?"

"Oh John, how dare you accuse me of such things!"

"Don't screw around with me Ellie, I know how you are."

She tried to hide her smile.

"Oh John," she sighed, caressing his face. "You know I can't stand the thoughts of another woman enchanting you."

John shook his head at her, taking another drink from his glass, turning away from her touch as he did so.

"You're a hard one, John." she smiled.

"And you're a pain in the ass." he replied.

After two hours of lingering pointlessly in the bar and carrying on about nothing in particular, John, Ellie and Roach eventually found themselves back in the street.

John somehow managed to remain sober that night, but Ellie and Roach had their arms thrown sloppily around each other as they staggered, laughed, staggered some more, chuckled, nearly tripped over some uneven pavement, and then began to sing Yankee Doodle as they carelessly walked behind John, who was rather annoyed by their current state.

"Yankee Doodle went to town, a ridin' on his horny…I mean, pony…" Roach laughed between hiccups.

"Stuck a feather up his ass and called it macaroni!" Ellie added, her eyes barely open as she nearly stumbled with Roach as they both continued to somehow laugh and sing all at once.

"I don't recall those being the original lyrics." John said, his hands tucked into his pants pockets; wishing he had brought his coat along.

"Ah, foo on you, ya old sour puss!" Ellie laughed and Roach joined her.

"You should bloody see him when he tries to order take out in a bloody Chinese restaurant…"

"I can imagine...bad enough he dresses like a undertaker."

"Why don't you both shut up before you get yourselves arrested?" John asked.

"Well personally I think he should audition for one of those late night comedy shows!" Ellie snickered. "He's got such a bubbly personality, and a real sense of humor to go with it!"

It seemed John really had his hands full for the night, and he was anxious to get home as soon as possible.

"Never should have offered her to join us for a drink…bad enough being put up with Roach on a daily bases."

TO BE CONTINUED…


	8. Chapter VIII: The Graveyard Shift

**CHAPTER VIII: The Graveyard Shift **

She sat on the cushioned seat watching the few stragglers who seemed to find some interest in lingering in the bowling alley.

The balls were rolled somewhere around every three to five to seven minutes, and they sounded like boulders rolling down the wooden isle.

The annoying sound of the pins being hit by the balls made her wince a little in her seat, and she wondered how much longer it would be before he came down. It had been forty minutes since he had called her on the phone, and she had been waiting in the alley for at least fifteen now.

Her fingers absentmindedly played with the strap of her hand bag and her leather boots tapped their heels lightly against the floor to the boring elevator music that she heard from the speakers above.

Finally, in the corner of her eye, she saw a man approaching her who was dressed in black. She looked at him, seeing it was John, and she rather liked the way he walked; his steady, hard strides said something to her about his character.

"Ready?" he asked her after she stood from her seat.

"Yes." she smiled a little.

She glanced past him, seeing another man coming up on them; a shorter, gruffer man.

He stood beside John, his eyes wanted to wander all over Katherine's body, but he knew better. John had had a little talk with him earlier.

"This is Roach." John grumbled. He didn't really care for Roach tagging along, but he was their only ride.

"Nice to meet ya, pretty lady."

"Um, hi." Her glance was upon John now, a questioning glare.

"He's going to drive us." John said, knowing exactly what Katherine was thinking.

"Oh." she said, trying for a small smile.

"It's a 1970's red mustang. Restored it all by myself." Roach boasted.

"Let's go." John said, interrupting him.

* * *

They were driving now, driving at midnight.

Katherine was seated in the back of the car and John sat in the passenger's seat next to Roach.

"So what cemetery are we goin' to first, John?" Roach asked.

"Angelus Rosedale. There's something I want to check out."

"That's a very big cemetery." Katherine said.

"Yeah." he replied. "Midnite told me a good while back about a rumor concerning a hideaway."

"A hideaway for what, John?" asked Roach.

"Occultists."

* * *

They arrived by 1:00 am.

Roach parked the car alongside one of the small streets that ran through the graveyard.

The place was dark with no lighting at all, but you could still make out the array of palm trees that complimented the old place. It had that old Spanish feel to it and an eerie essence.

The graves seemed to be endless, and in the distance they could make out a mausoleum when Roach's flashlight had scanned over it.

"This place gives me the creeps." Roach uttered. "Hey John, why the hell did you have to take us out here late at night, eh?"

"To freak you out." he replied sarcastically, giving Roach and Katherine a mocking expression.

"Seriously, John." Roach grumbled.

"In case we catch anyone. I'm looking for suspicious activity, occultist, demons…It's the best hour to catch someone in the act."

"I hope it doesn't backfire on us. At least in the day time we can see if any graves have been disturbed." Katherine added.

John turned around, glaring into her eyes in the dark. He planted the golden ray of the flashlight upon her face and she winced in the light's brightness, turning her head away from it slightly.

"I'm the exorcist here, the paranormal investigator…I know what the hell I'm doing." he snapped.

"Wow, I was certain you were just out here for a good old fashioned graveyard prank." she replied.

"You're the journalist, maybe you'll get a good story while you're here."

"I wasn't complaining." she defended herself.

They walked quietly along the narrow paved roads; John and Roach often shining their flashlights over the fields of graves, hoping to see something.

"If anyone is out here committing some crime, wouldn't it be smarter to _not_ shine those flashlights all over the place?" Katherine asked.

"We don't have any other choice. It's too dark to see anything…come on."

They followed John onto the lawns, all of them walking further away from the street.

Up ahead was a large mausoleum, and it was there that John made his stop.

"Oh John, honestly you're not going to…." Roach wasn't happy to see John looking for an entrance.

"Look at this," John pointed to the stone door. "Looks to me like it's been opened."

"Come on John, the thing's a hundred years old. It's probably just showing it's age."

"Quiet."

John pinned his fingers into the crack.

"Help me out here." he said to Roach.

"Alright." Roach dropped his flashlight and joined John in the difficult struggle of removing the stone door.

"Stop, both of you!" Katherine said.

"What?"

"Look here." she knelt down, lifting a tool that had been tossed beneath an old oak. "It's a shovel."

John took the tool from her, examining it's metal tip in the light of Roach's flasher.

"It's pretty new. Someone apparently used it to open the mausoleum door."

"Yes," Roach added. "The tip's pretty bent up."

"But why would anyone leave behind key evidence, especially with all of the grave robbing you still hear about?" Katherine asked.

"Because Kit, they planned on coming back. At least that's what I make of it."

"Unless they were just foolishly careless." Roach added.

"Possibly. Let's use it to open the door."

After an almost endless struggle, the stubborn stone door fell down and the entrance was opened for them.

Roach shined the flashlight down inside the structure.

"It just had to be one of those kind that takes you under ground." he muttered.

John threw the shovel aside and began making his way down the stairs with his flash light at hand. Roach and Katherine followed after a little hesitation.

"I hate graveyards." Roach grumbled as they carried on down the stone steps. "John, if I die, I want you to have me cremated."

"Do you have to trouble me with _if_? _When_ sounds more pleasant."

Suddenly, they were both startled by a sudden shriek from Katherine.

The two men turned around to see her bouncing about, brushing a wood spider off from her hair.

"Whoa, whoa, hold it right there!" Roach leaped to the scene, taking the frightened wood spider into his hands just before Katherine could stomp it to death.

"Are you insane?" he asked, looking at her as if she were some criminal.

"I hate those things, okay?"

John rolled his eyes..

_"Immature…"_ he muttered.

The stairway wound around the mausoleum wall in a spiral fashion, bringing them into an open stone room where caskets were stored inside of the walls.

They retained themselves from making any loud noise, and they spoke amongst themselves in whispered tones.

"Someone's been here." Roach whispered. "The torches are burning."

"Actually, they're still here." John said, pointing to the center of the room.

In the middle of the floor, there was a long line of skulls. The line was in the shape of a pentagram, and inside the human skulls were burning candles.

Sitting in the center was a seated figure cloaked in black. The figure's arms were spread out, and she uttered words in an ancient tongue; the language of Lucifer.

John stepped closer, but quietly, towards the seated being, pulling his crucifix out of his coat as he eyed the chanter.

Katherine and Roach remained near the bottom of the stairwell.

"So, did you by any chance get left behind?" John asked, lifting a brow.

"You found my little hideaway, didn't you John?" she smirked. Her accent was French.

"Sabine…Balthazar's old muse."

"You remembered me." she pulled the hood off from her head and she cast her frightening eyes upon him.

She had long red hair, straight hair. Her features were quite delicate and she was pale skinned with blue eyes. Her face was covered in light freckles around her nose and cheeks.

She stood now, in the center of the pentagram, gazing at John and his crucifix and then at the two leery figures who kept close to the exit.

"You brought some friends; your crucifix and two faces I am unacquainted with. Tell me John, do you plan on using that crucifix against me?"

"Why spoil the suspense?" he asked.

She grinned a wide and terrifying grin. It was a smile that made Katherine and Roach feel cold and empty, because in her smile there were fangs, fangs as long and sharp as a wolf's canines.

Around Sabine's neck was a long silver chain that bared a lithium stone, and it seemed to slowly turn into a glowing hue of cold blue, matching the woman's eyes.

"Are you still hard at me for what I did to Balthazar?" John asked.

"No John. You know Balthazar and I had a loveless relationship. It was strictly business." she laughed, finding John's question rather amusing.

"Well, I never thought that half breeds and vampire occultist were capable of loving to begin with."

"Go ahead John Constantine…begin your pointless interrogations. I heard you coming down those stairs."

"Pointless, huh? I don't think there will be anything pointless about it because I plan on getting some answers."

"Ask away…"

"Who are you working with, and why are you unleashing demons, and why are they using dead bodies to hide in?"

"Oh my, you stupid mortal…" she shook her head at him, a confident smile was expressed through her red lips. "I shall tell you nothing; you shall receive no answers from me."

"Then I may just have to wipe that stupid smirk off your face."

"I doubt your abilities, John."

"Then you're dumber than you look. You know good and well that I can deport your sorry ass back to hell just like I do the half breeds shits that you socialize yourself with…"

"Are you saying that us vampires are no different?"

"Pretty much. It's the same concept, the same steps to follow."

"You've never faced a vampire, John."

"No, but I'll be glad to make you the first."

He began to move towards her with the crucifix, but she paused him.

"You won't be sending me anywhere…look around you."

The caskets were breaking through the storage doors, and their tops were being forced open by the dead inside them.

"John! She's gone!" Katherine shouted.

Sabine had disappeared, and their next move was to climb up the stairs and head for the exit.

"Oh shit!" Roach let out once they had climbed back to he top. "She's locked us in."

"John, what are we going to do?" There was panic in Katherine's voice.

"Just stay calm."

"Stay calm? They're coming up the stairs!"

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Author's Notes: Hi guys! Hope you like this chapter. It took me five days to finish. If you see any grammar mistakes, or have any suggestions, please tell me! I reread my stories probably three or four times before posting, but I still miss little things despite any effort. Lol!

And as for everyone who has anticipated this story so far, I recommend that you guys go back and re-read the whole thing because I've revised the plot as well as fixed a few things, and I've taken out a couple of chapters that I found unfit for this story. Hope everyone likes the update. This does not apply to **KrisEleven**, who has already read the updated version.


	9. Chapter IX: Fight The Dark

**CHAPTER IX: Fight The Dark**

They bucked against the stone door, pushing all of their weight against it. It felt as if some force was holding it shut, keeping it from collapsing and them from escaping.

The tight tunnel of the stairway was claustrophobic in the darkness now, and they had taken more notice to the stiffness of the humid, almost suffocating air.

The flashlights remained thrown on the floor, their batteries suddenly dead for no logical reason.

While Roach and Katherine were struggling with the door, John had already disappeared some few steps around the winding tunnel.

The mausoleum was now an echo of snarls, moans and scratching sounds made by the corpses who must have bared claws in their bony rot going by the grappling sounds they made upon the walls. Their eroded stench could be smelled at the top of the stairwell.

Somewhere in this darkness you could almost hear death calling your name.

Katherine slammed and pushed herself against the door like a violent animal struggling in the grasp of a trap. She was desperate to free herself from the darkness, the darkness that seemed to overwhelm her like an avalanche.

The demonic corpses were getting closer but Constantine had already wrapped the rag about his hand.

"Get ready to cover your faces!" he shouted as he briefly glanced towards the upper stairs behind him.

"Cover your face Katherine." Roach whispered to her, and she did; though she was uncertain why. The stench of the corpses had already made it's presence known. Why cover their faces now?

When the first two corpses had come within a foot of John, the rag was lit, and the flame lit the mausoleum like dawn peering over a hill.

The sulfur burned them into shattered pieces of a gold-like substance, or so it looked in the momentary light.

The brightness had altered itself back into darkness, and John made his way back towards the door, being careful not to step in the vomit. The sulfur was kind to no one the first time around.

John pushed his side against the stone door, and it fell open. They were out.

There was still the coughing of Roach and Katherine, and between the last few hacks came the seductive voice of the vampire, who's words brought their eyes to find her atop the mausoleum.

"You destroyed my little soldiers John, and I'm not happy."

"Not happy?" he challenged her. "Then get your sorry ass down here and do something about it."

She flung her black cloak in front of her body, hiding her face and dissipating in the shadows of the night.

The party was uncertain of what to expect next, and John was angered that she had escaped him again.

"John, say it: Into the light!" Roach rallied him.

"It doesn't work on vampires." John told him.

"No matter, I'm right behind you, John." she hissed.

He didn't get to turn around, because she had already thrown him many feet from her.

His back had hit the ground and she didn't even touch him, it was a force that had thrown him, a force that had been mustered by this evil individual.

She quickly did the same to Roach, and Katherine knew she was next; but she wasn't thrown like the men. Instead, she was clutched by the throat and lifted into the air, her feet no longer touching the ground beneath her.

Her clutch was tight on Katherine, and she glared coldly into her eyes, reading her soul and her mind, knowing her emotions and the thoughts that raced through her mind: _Afraid._

She made Katherine feel so empty, so cold inside, like she was no more than a human shell.

Her body trembled and she couldn't move. The temptress had charmed her like a cobra.

"Weak…" she hissed. That very word seemed to whip past Katherine's ears like the side of a blade. Sabine's long nails were slowly piercing through her skin like tiny daggers.

"Indeed you are." John uttered, regaining his footing.

"Constantine!" she snarled.

He leaped towards her, and the vampire dropped the woman to the ground. Katherine fell to the grass like a stone.

He forced himself upon the vampiress and snatched his crucifix from the inner pocket of his coat.

The crucifix was placed upon her forehead and she wanted to lash out at him, but two stout arms had disabled her. It was Roach.

John's very chanting made her vibrate and the crucifix burned her very skin.

Her heart was failing now, her body swelling.

Her last wails were more roaring than they were cries or screeches, and the blood began to flow rapidly from her fanged mouth.

Her skin was changing from a pale pigment to an almost grey, corpse-like color. Veins of red began inexorably peering through her skin.

But then it stopped.

Slowly, the vampire regained her appearance, her color, her strength, albeit very little now. Her swollen body had gone back down to that of a small framed woman.

Roach glanced at John with a lifted brow.

"John? Aren't you gonna finish her…"

But John cut him off, paying no mind to his words. He knew what he was doing.

"Now tell me again who you're working for."

"Th- the…" she stuttered in her breathlessness.

"TELL ME!" he threatened to place the crucifix to her once more.

"The Dark Arts Lord…" she sobbed so weakly, revealing to them the coward she really was.

"The Dark Arts Lord? Where do I find this being?"

"He hides." she let out.

"WHERE!"

"I do not know…."

"Why is he unleashing demons in Los Angeles? What's the bastard plotting?"

He gripped her throat as Roach continued to bear down on her arms. She didn't speak.

"WHY?"

The pale look on her face, the exhausted, terrified expression ceased and she slowly displayed a malicious smile and a wicked chuckle.

"What's so fucking funny?" he demanded.

"You can torture me all you want, I will not tell you anything more…"

"The fuck you won't…"

"Listen to me, listen to me you mortal shit; you might as well have the pleasure of finishing me off yourself, I'll be dead anyway you look at it now."

"What the hell are you talking about, Sabine?"

"John, they'll kill me now because I told you too much."

"You haven't told me enough!"

"Kill me. My death is the only achievement you'll make tonight."

"Have it your way!"

He placed the crucifix amongst her forehead once more, and the grisly scene repeated itself.

She rotted like a corpse going through fifty years of endless time, until there was nothing but a skeleton left, an aged skeleton with fangs seeping through its almost grinning facial frame; though it only took seconds for her to die.

"Shit!" John stood up, kicking the skeleton aside and watching with disarray as it turned to dust.

Roach just sat on the ground, leaning back against his arms, both astonished and bewildered by the events of tonight.

John fit the crucifix back into his pocket and then turned his attention to Katherine.

"Kit?"

She was laying on the grass, huddled in a fetal position. Her eyes were open wide and she was still breathing; but the woman was in a traumatized state.

"Kit?" He knelt down, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Kit, snap out of it. It's alright now."

Her panting was quick, and she shifted her eyes upon his concerned face.

He tilted backwards as the woman slowly reared herself up.

Her eyes shifted around as she sat before him. She seemed confused, as if she didn't know anything.

"Kit?"

"What the bloody hell's wrong with her?" Roach asked.

"I don't know."

Then the words came rolling off of her tongue, as if she were repeating a line that had been rehearsed to achieve perfection.

"Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio. Contra niquitiam et insidias dioboli esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamar; tuque, Princeps militiae caelestis, Satanam aliosque spiritus maligno, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrude. Amen."

She swallowed. Two tears streamed down her face like an uncontrollable fountain.

"What?" Roach muttered.

John took her hand, and she seemed to stare into him blankly as he repeated…

"Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle; be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do thou O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wonder through the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen."

She caught him in her focus after her prayer had been translated by his vocals. She could feel his hand wrapped around her own, and he could feel the trembling of _her_ grip.

"Kit?" he said once more.

She fainted, falling against his chest, and he lifted her into his arms to carry her back to the car.

* * *

_Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep…._

The annoying sound of the alarm clock had brought her to stretch her arms above her head.

The bed beneath her felt firmer and the sheet a little colder than what she was use to.

She had to blink twice, maybe three times, before realizing that she was in a strange place and in someone's else's bed.

The place was empty and she looked around, trying to decipher where she was.

The withered, aged walls were of a stucco tan. The doors were trimmed in dark green wood and the large windows to her left were hidden behind wooden shutters.

She stood up, glancing at a wood bookcase built-in beside the bed and at the alarm clock that read 7:45; and then at the wooden table and chairs that stood out in front of a small kitchen.

She walked upon the old tiled floor, looking at the metal light fixtures mounted on the small kitchen shelf that hung over the counter top. The wall was half tile, white; though it looked stained.

The ceilings were tall and near one of the doors was a wooden coat rack that displayed no coats at all, and the lineup of water bottles against the windows told her that this was, by no doubt, John's apartment.

A shutter had swung open, and she nearly jumped at the sight of the man in the white shirt and dark slacks that had slipped in; though she settled down when he glanced up at her.

"You're awake…" he said nonchalantly, stepping past her as he started for the kitchen.

"What the hell am I doing here, John?" she demanded.

The combination of anger and fear that he heard in her tone had paused him to look over his shoulder at her.

"You passed out in the graveyard." he reminded her.

"…You could've took me back to my place."

"Didn't know your address." he continued to the kitchen, scavenging through the cupboard for his trusty vodka.

"Then a hotel room!" she snapped, offended by the thoughts of being subjected to vulnerability by a man.

"Don't worry…" he said, pouring himself a drink. "I didn't touch you. Slept over at Roach's on a couch."

"Looks to me like you were hiding outside the window."

He sipped the liquor.

"I had to get some fresh air. I can't stand the smell of that man's room. Sides' this is my place."

"I know that." she said, more calmly this time.

He sat the liquor glass on the table before him.

"You want something to eat? I'll take you home afterwards."

"John," she began, stepping closer and closer to him until their faces were inches apart.

"What?" he asked with curiosity.

"I need to tell you something." She said, looking up at him.

"Shoot away."

He pulled out a chair and sat down, but she remained on her feet.

"Last night; everything that happened…."

"It was too much for you, I know."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?" he asked with a little impatience.

"The point is you, John. You're the point."

He glanced up at her with an expression that said: _How dare you._

"I remember now why we moved away."

"What are you talking about, Kit?"

"When I was five and my dad wanted to move…he had to get me away from you."

His expression changed to one that said: _Why?_

"I had strange dreams John, and weird stuff happened when I was around you. I didn't really become a normal kid until we moved away; and I pushed the memory of you out of my mind with the help of my father."

"You seemed perfectly fine to me."

"Come on, John. You remembered those dreams I had better than I did…the ones about the angels, the demons, my mother."

"That was only part of them. You probably don't remember…"

She cut him off.

"Yes I do." she said in an almost whispered tone.

She swallowed.

"When I was four I dreamed that I was in an open field. It was thundering and the skies were gray. It was windy too and cold…When I looked up at the clouds, they literally zipped open and I saw a great battle raging on in the heavens; men on horses and in chariots, legions of demons armed with swords and hatchets."

"Kit, you can't blame these things on me."

"I'm not John. All I'm trying to say is;"

"You don't want to get mixed up again, am I right?"

"Yes."

"You already are one way or another…you were mixed up in all of this from the beginning." He stood up, beginning to leave the table.

"What do you mean?" she demanded, clutching his sleeve.

"There are people in this world who are gifted. You, me, lots of others…God has some plan for us, Kit; and no matter how far you run, you'll always fall back in. I know a woman who tried to escape what she saw, but in the end she couldn't deny it any longer. She had to be reminded of the things her sister had seen, her twin sister that she had abandoned to avoid being given the title of insanity. As for me, I've been labeled as insane all my life by my sorry ass parents."

"You can't make me face these things that you face, John. Your life isn't for me."

"I'm not stopping ya. Go on, walk out the door…you'll be back."

She wanted to slap him, curse him and forget him; but she didn't.

"You've always been a curse trailing behind me. It was only a matter of time before you weaseled back in." she said just before stepping out of the apartment.

"You're the one who came looking for _me_."

"Good bye, Constantine."

The door slammed shut and she was gone.

He shrugged, reaching in his pants pocket for a refreshing piece of nicoderm, though he secretly wished he had a cigarette. He missed placing it between his fingers and feeling the smog of nicotine flowing through his esophagus.

It seemed like everyone he knew always ended up dead, or broke off from him because of his lifestyle. No one wanted to face it alongside him. Even Angela had managed to branch off from her dealings with the man who dealt in exorcisms.

But John would carry on, like he always did. He had too many other things to worry about; The Dark Arts Lord being just that.

The thunder outside had turned into heavily pouring rain, and the sound brought him, in some way, a little comfort.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	10. Chapter X: The Boy With The Hands

**CHAPTER X: The Boy With The Hands**

The detective slammed his fist on the metal table. The seated man, who's hands laid on the surface bound by the metal cuffs, barely winced.

"Why don't you say something, dammit?" he demanded. "Are you too damn shocked by your own crime to even speak? Even make eye contact?"

The man remained silent in the cold, brick-walled room. He sat like a rock; a stubborn one at that.

"DAMN YOU!" the detective let out.

"Weiss, take a breather." a male voice spoke through the loudspeaker mounted in the far left corner of the wall.

Weiss walked towards the door, but he gave the suspect one final glare before he stepped out; a cold glare.

"The son of a bitch just sits there. I wonder if he'd talk if I used a taser."

"Let me give it a shot."

"Angela, it's useless."

"He'll have to talk eventually, Weiss. Let me see if I can get something out of him."

"Alright." he sighed, finding a little comfort for his restless hands inside the warmth of his pockets.

The man waiting inside of the interrogation room was expecting another cop to slip inside the boundaries of the door.

He lifted his stare from the cuffs about his wrists partially, just enough to see her torso.

"So," his voice was gruff beneath his beard, this middle-aged, battered-looking, southern-talking man. "You must be the good cop." He sounded taunting.

"Maybe." she replied with confidence. "It depends on how good you cooperate."

So far he had managed to at least utter a sentence to her. That was already more than what Weiss had gotten out of him.

"Mr. Donahue, We know you murdered your wife."

"I didn't murder her."

"The evidence was clear as day; the fingerprints, the knife; there's no point in denial. Just tell me why."

"I wouldn't kill my wife, dammit. I loved her."

Angela shook her head in dismay and tightened her lips with frustration. She slid her arms out before her, stretching them upon the table's cold, metal surface just before returning them to her face to fold her hands beneath her chin.

"I'm very tired Mr. Donahue, and I know you are too. This interrogation has been going on all day; but if you like, we can continue into the hours of night."

"I was possessed. I was possessed dammit!"

The man was holding back his rage, his longing to reach out and strangle every cop around him; the woman sitting across the table and the prying eyes that hid behind the glass.

"Possessed huh?" doubt was settled in her hazel eyes.

"Mr. Donahue, you've got a criminal background. Assault and battery, drug use and three robberies. You also shot a black man in a liquor store. The odds are pretty much against you."

"But I never killed anyone."

"Attempted, and yes you did actually. Even with all of the possessions that have been going on in this city, it's likely you could be using this as an escape passage for your crime. But just so you know, you're the first _supposedly possessed victim_ who's committed a murder."

The man flung upward in his seat, throwing the chair to the floor. The bright light that hung in the middle of the ceiling seemed to reflect off his bald head in an almost mirroring affect.

There was a look in his bloodshot eyes that unnerved Angela, an essence about him that denied her any likelihood of trust.

"You want an answer? Huh? Do ya?" his tone was sharp and infuriating in it's loudness and it seemed to bounce about the room like a bullet.

"Ask the boy! Ask the fucking boy! He knows! He's the reason it happened! The little freak!"

Four cops burst into the room, piling themselves around the violent man as they forced him out.

As they struggled to walk him past Angela, his crazy eyes were still upon her, his shouting vocals still raging on.

"Go on, detective! You want to interrogate? It's the boy you need to question! The crazy boy at Ravenscar! Dammit! He's the one who should be blamed! If he were never born, none of this shit would have happened!" his rage echoed on down the hall, until she could hear him no more.

Angela sighed and closed her eyes, bearing her head into her hands.

Weiss placed his hand on her shoulder, and his touch brought her eyes to his.

"Personally I think _he_ needs some time at Ravenscar." he said.

"I need to pull up those records on his son now." Angela stated.

"Follow me." Weiss said, leading her out of the room. She was glad to leave that cold dwelling.

They paced down the hallways and through the open reception room, walking past other cops and a few handcuffed criminals. There were victims of family members sitting in waiting chairs and others telling their stories to the detectives who were there to listen.

The office seemed to shelter them from the activity you saw in the Los Angeles Police Department; but you could still hear ringing phones and the few people that stepped outside of the door.

"Whatcha need?" asked the red haired woman sitting behind the desk.

"Marie, I need you to pull up the files on Gavin Donahue; William Donahue's son." Angela said.

"Hold on."

The middle aged woman began plundering into the computer files, searching for the name like a blood hound on a trail.

Between clicks, she sipped her mocha, never leaving her stare from the bright screen of the computer.

"Let's see, I've got a lot of Gavin Donahues her; about eleven of them."

"He's at Ravenscar." Angela said, hoping the small piece of information would narrow the search.

"I think I've got him."

She clicked the mouse three more times, and then the printer began shooting out printed files.

Marie organized the stack and then handed it to the two detectives who held the files together as they scanned the information and the picture of the boy.

"Yep. He's got his father's eyes." Weiss said.

"Maybe not his nature." Angela hoped.

"Alright then." Weiss glanced at his partner and then back at the file. "Let's go then."

* * *

Angela parked the SUV and she and Weiss made their way into Ravenscar.

"I hate coming here." Angela said, acknowledging the cringe she felt in her stomach.

"You'll be fine." Weiss said, knowing that the horrible memory of Isabel's death still plagued her.

Angela gave him a weak smile as they approached the receptionist.

"Can I help you?" asked the kind old black woman.

"I'm detective Weiss…"

"…and I'm detective Dodson. We need to speak with Gavin Donahue about a matter concerning his convicted father."

They slipped their badges back into their pockets.

The old woman bent over to the other side of her desk.

"I need a nurse up front please." she said over the loudspeaker.

They were following a male nurse now, through an elevator and a long hallway on the twelfth floor.

He slipped the card into the door numbered 2412 and pushed it open, giving way for them to step inside.

"He's a very special patient." he said in an almost warning kind of way.

The detectives stepped inside of the room. The nurse remained outside of the open door.

It looked cold inside, but the lighting, the large window and the colorful assortment of simple toys and two superman posters gave a little warmth and comfort to the room.

The little boy sat in the window seat, gazing out over the city and the rain clouds that wanted to dampen the day.

In his hand was a plush bear. Beside him was a brightly painted wooden airplane and behind him was a small Christmas tree that displayed a few dim little lights and a paper star on top.

There was a table across from him that was covered with scattered crayons and drawings.

Angela stepped over to the artwork, picking it up picture after picture and finding herself frightened by what the boy had drawn. They were drawings of winged demons flying over the city, harming and chasing innocent people and animals.

Even though the pictures were drawn by a not-so-artistic child, it was not difficult at all to make out what they represented; and the last one said something about the boy that terrified Angela beyond anything. She folded the last picture, and held it in her hand as she and Weiss stepped closer to the child who had not yet acknowledged them.

"Hello Gavin," Angela said.

"Hi." he uttered back, glancing at her with no interest at all in talking.

She gave him a smile, and the child tried to give her one in return before returning his stare to the outside world, though his smile was very small.

"That's a nice airplane." Weiss said, "Did your dad make that for you?"

The boy glanced back at them, shaking his head.

"I made it." he said, returning his eyes to the window again.

"Gavin, we're from the L.A.P.D." Angela said at length.

"I know." he uttered, turning himself around to entirely face them. "You're Angela Dodson and you're Diego Weiss."

"…Angie, he knew our names." Weiss whispered back, amazed by the boy.

There was a peaceful nature in this boy that made him so different from the way his father had described him. He was solemn, soft spoken and quiet; and his round face seemed so full of grief and fear, though he clearly wanted to hide it.

His black hair was shaved, and his thick eyebrows drew attention with his frightening blue eyes.

"Gavin, can I ask you about some of the pictures you draw?" Angela questioned.

The boy nodded.

"I see things in my dreams, and I draw them on paper." he said.

"Well, what about this picture here?" Angela held the unfolded piece of paper before him.

It displayed a horrific drawing of a bearded man slaying a crying woman on a kitchen floor, a knife in his hands and demons all around him as if rallying him in the murder attempt. The dashes of red crayon marks represented a gory presentation of blood.

"I know what my dad did." he said.

Gavin turned himself to look out the window again, as if seeking from shelter from the image.

Angela handed the picture to Weiss and carefully took a seat next to the child.

"You're files say you're eleven years old."

The boy sighed.

"Gavin, I spoke with your father today. Was he, by any chance, abusive to you or your mother?"

The boy was silent.

"Gavin, I really need you to tell me the truth."

"Dad was always bitter and mean. He lost his job as a truck driver when I was nine. Since then he took up drinking and robbery; but dad never made a good criminal…he wasn't much of a hero either."

"Tell me why your parents put you in Ravenscar."

"It was my dad's ideal. Mom didn't have any say, and I told her to go along with it so he wouldn't hurt her."

"Why did he place you here?"

"Because when I'm angry, I can hurt people…One day after school, I walked in and heard mom screaming in the kitchen. He was beating her, throwing things at her and calling her hurtful things. I was afraid that he'd kill her and…I don't know how to explain it but, I pulled him off from her, threw him to the floor and I formed a cross with my two index fingers and placed them on his forehead. It kind of stunned him and his skin seemed to burn. After that he had me put away, and I've been here since."

"Why a cross? Did you think he was possessed?"

"No, I just thought he was evil."

"Did your mother ever try to leave, take you out of the hospital?"

"He kept her prisoner at home. She only got to see me a few times. Last week was the last I saw of her; she brought me a Christmas tree. She mainly called."

"I see." Angela said.

She stood up from the seat and the boy watched as she walked over to Weiss.

"Is my dad going to go to prison?"

"I'm afraid so." Angela said.

"Good." Gavin replied matter-of-factly.

"…Well, it was nice talking with you Gavin. We appreciate your cooperation." Weiss reached out to shake the boy's hand.

"I can't touch people with my bear hands; they'll burn your skin. It's been like that ever since I was eight."

Weiss exchanged a glare with Angela that seemed to say: _What?_

Angela on the other hand believed the boy.

"Oh, Well, we'll keep in touch, by visitation." Weiss replied, still a little stunned by what the boy had said about his hands. It just sounded too over-the-top for him to take seriously.

Gavin nodded.

"Merry Christmas, Gavin." Angela said, holding a heavy heart for the boy's situation.

"...Merry Christmas." he replied.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	11. Chapter XI: The Woes Of Lust

**Okay; a little John/Angela drama here cause hey, he's John and she's Angela! **

* * *

**CHAPTER XI: The Woes Of Lust**

The knocks against the door came quiet, unsteady, perhaps a little hesitant; and _he_ was hesitant to open. He had a headache and it was night now, still raining and he wanted to finish his drink.

He opened the door slightly, only allowing enough space to catch a face; but when he saw who it was, he opened the door entirely, surprised and amused all at once.

"Angela?"

She stood in the doorway in a lavender hoodie, jeans, running shoes and damp hair pulled out of her face in a neat ponytail.

Her arms were wrapped around her shivering body, and she looked as if she had jogged here.

"John, I know it's late but…"

"…Come in." he said, cutting her off before she could finish.

She followed him inside, and as she stepped past him she heard a somewhat sarcastic whisper.

"_Back already…"_

"You say something?"

"No." he replied, shutting the door. "You come here unexpectedly; it must be important."

"It is." she stated.

She followed him to the wooden table, and both of them found comfort in the chairs.

"So, what's on your mind Detective?"

"Today a man was convicted for the murder of his wife."

She watched John swig down a harsh swallow of vodka.

"He claimed that he was possessed…but I didn't believe him. If he was, it would be the first one of these cases where a possessed victim committed a brutal crime."

She swallowed nervously.

"He eventually became impatient with the interrogation and went into a continuous rant; telling me I should question his freakyson who was the real cause of it all. He said his son was at Ravenscar."

"Ravenscar?" at last John had displayed some interest.

"My partner and I went there afterwards to talk with the kid…he's the reason I came here, John; to tell you."

"I'm listening."

"He was a sweet little boy, but really troubled and very smart for his age. I could see it in his face, how he spoke and the pictures he drew…take a look at this."

She dipped into her handbag, pulling out four drawings that Gavin had done; the same ones that she and Weiss had took from his room.

John took the pictures from her, scanning over them and taking it all in.

"Take a look at that last one. He said he knew that his dad was going to kill his mother."

"So the man _was_ possessed? Isn't that why he drew these demons around him?"

"That's not what Gavin thought. He accused his dad of being evil, but never suggested a possession. But I think the demons might have been feeding off his dad's violent nature, driving him to commit the crime."

"Some special ability or foresight must have brought him to draw these." John said, still gazing at the pictures.

"He said he dreamed them. He also said that his dad was always mean, a drunk too. He was afraid for his mother's safety…One day he came home and found his dad attacking her, and Gavin, the kid, threw his dad on the floor and presented a crucifix with his index fingers and placed them against his father's forehead. He said that his touch burned his dad's skin…When my partner reached out to shake Gavin's hand, he refused, saying that he couldn't touch anyone because it would burn them."

"Interesting." John said. "Maybe I'll have a look into this myself."

"I thought you might."

There came a moment of silence as John retained his stare on the drawings.

"I think I'm getting closer to solving this mystery with the demons." he said at length.

"You are?" Hope was beaming in her eyes.

"Hopefully. I met up with an old childhood friend of mine named Katherine Ryan; she has dreams too, or did, about strange things. She came to me looking for a good story for the paper on the occult, and we ended up doing a little investigation at the Rosedale Cemetery."

"So, did you find out anything?"

"Yeah. Found that a mausoleum was being used as a portal by Balthazar's old girlfriend."

"Isn't Balthazar the one who…"

"Yeah." he replied. "Let me ask you something;"

"What?"

"Do you believe in vampires?"

The question caught her off guard.

"What? John, what are you asking me here?" she asked, scrunching her face with disbelief.

"They're real Angela…and they work in the occult."

"Okay, vampires…wow." she relaxed her expression, a sigh ceasing from her lips. "Sure, I guess I can believe they're real. Shoot, I've seen demons, why not Count Dracula?"

"They don't sleep in caskets or turn into bats; that's all fairytale bullshit. They're people who sold their souls to the devil hundreds, even thousands of years ago to serve him in the mortal world for all eternity, and in return keep their youth…Roach looked it up."

"Roach huh?"

"You were skeptical about the demons too, Angela." he reminded her.

"Alright, I'll believe you. You've never lied to me yet. Tell me what else you found out."

"I managed to get out of Sabine, the vampiress, that she was working for The Dark Arts Lord; but that's all the information I could force out of her before finishing her off."

"You killed her?"

"I've always heard from Midnite that killing vampires is no different from killing half breeds. It was true."

"So what are you gonna do, John?"

"I don't know where to find this Dark Arts Lord; but I may know an old friend who can help me."

"Who?"

"Ambroas. I met him at Ravenscar when I was a kid…in fact, he may also be able to figure out Gavin and Katherine's dreams."

"How so?"

"He helped me figure out a few things after I committed suicide."

"It would be good if someone could give that little boy a helping hand. God knows he needs some kind of hope."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks John. I knew you'd be the better to understand him."

"Yeah." He would never forget the treatments that his parents had made him go through as a kid.

More silence fell between them as they both sat quietly. Angela's eyes seemed to dash about them and her feet began to tap against the floor in her restlessness; but John remained still, buried deep within his thoughts.

"I guess I need to be going." she said, standing up.

"Hold up." he paused her.

"What?" she asked with a sparkle in her hazel eyes. The look on her face sent a warm and comforting strike to John's heart.

"I uh…" he caught himself from staring at her. "Can you make me some copies of those drawings? I'll need to show them to Ambroas if I do make a trip to see him."

"Sure John." she said.

"Angela,"

He had stopped her from making way towards the door. He stood up and rounded himself to where she stood.

"What is it, John?" she asked in a lowered tone, glancing at the floor and then at him. He made her tremble.

"Are you always going to keep me hanging on this cliff?"

"I guess," she sighed. "if you're willing to keep hanging." She hated the way she replied. It sounded a little cold coming out of her.

"I see." he replied with sarcasm.

"Look John, haven't you got other things occupying your time now? Why are you suddenly making me feel guilty? Before you just wanted to stay friends so you wouldn't feel too much obligation to protect me, not that I even need your protecting."

"Give me a break." he grumbled.

"John,"

He cut her off.

"Angela, I really…"

"Really what, John?"

"I…"

Why couldn't he say it? Why couldn't he tell her the truth?...Maybe he could if she'd drop the cocky, tough-girl attitude.

"I told you;" she said after his lame stuttering. "It won't work, you and I. We're both loners, John."

"Always a catch…" he sighed.

"John, I'm sorry. I care deeply for you…."

"Do you?" he seemed to doubt her.

"I can't, live like you do…and you wouldn't be able to live with my lifestyle either."

"Why not? Why not give it a shot?"

"Because John, you wouldn't last…You drink, you're negative, and I don't want to follow in the trail of the circles you travel."

"So," he said solemnly. "This is good bye?"

"John," she took his hand in hers. "I'll be here for you as best I can, but only as a friend."

"Why don't you learn to let yourself trust someone to love you, Angela?"

It annoyed her how he often managed to read her own feelings and point out her own flaws before she could, him of all people.

"Maybe I would if I knew that you could let go of your old habits." she said, throwing his hand back.

"I have." he argued.

"I mean besides smoking, John."

He kept his stare on her, and she tried to ignore it; ignore how awkward it made her feel.

"John, please…you're not the settling down kind of guy."

He pulled her close in that moment, forcing her against his chest and trying to kiss her; but she dodged his lips and pushed herself away from his grasp. It was a difficult thing for her to bring herself to do, as she had longed from the start for their lips to touch.

"John please," she had tears in her eyes now. "Don't make this any harder for me than it already is!"

She gathered herself and walked out the door.

"Angela!" he called out; but it was useless.

He found himself sitting alone at the table again, and the vodka bottle beside him looked comforting, but it reminded him of an invisible wall that seemed to cut between him and the woman who had stolen his heart.

He held the bottle tightly, his hands shaking as he eyed it with disgust, forcing himself to hold back any sign of tears that may have dared to play at his steely eyes.

The glass bottle was thrown violently against the wall across from him, and it shattered into dozens of sharp pieces of broken glass.

John bared his face into his hands feeling the sting of a broken heart that seemed to stab him like a knife.

"Never thought it possible for a woman to make me feel so damn vulnerable...a woman of all things."

Angela however was more than just another woman, she was special, different, and she had a way about her that had driven John into a dark hole of longing yet unreachable desires.

* * *

As Angela drove back home that night, she tried to convince herself that she had made the right choice about John.

She didn't deny her love for him. It was clear that he had begun to grow on her from the very moment their eyes had met in Ravenscar when she demanded that the elevator door be held for her.

"_Not if I can help it." _he had said.

A smile creased on her as she humored herself with his raw attitude. Strangely, it was a characteristic she found amusing about him. Maybe it was because a nice John wouldn't be half as interesting.

It was true that Angela found it difficult to trust anyone, to let anyone in; a common trait that both she and John had shared, though amazingly he had lately been the one wanting to open the door for a relationship; but now she was shutting him out.

She had cut herself off from her parents a long time ago, ignoring them and avoiding them as much as possible; and Isabel, her beloved sister had been cut out of Angela's life along with them. Perhaps it was the fear of the dark that plagued her. Back then, she didn't want to understand her sister…not after everyone had started thinking her to be ill.

She had let her job, her depression, her stubborn independent nature come between her and family, and now it was coming between her and a possible romance with John.

Attachment scared her. Being bound to something she no longer wanted involvement in had frightened her away from ever wanting to embark on another one of John's escapades.

She knew what was out there, and she didn't want to face hell anymore than what she had to after all that had come to play with Mammon and the Spear Of Destiny, as well as her sister's death.

She wanted to continue being who she was: Detective Dodson. She had dreamed of that title since she was fourteen.

She wanted to keep herself. Belong to no one but her.

She often longed for love. She had longed to kiss John, longed for him to embrace her; but she knew now that she had to make her own destiny. That destiny did not involve a relationship with John Constantine, a man who tended to be stone-cold.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	12. Chapter XII: John's Nightmare

**CHAPTER XII: John's Nightmare**

The room was dark and cold. The liquor bottles laid half-empty; one on the floor, one on the counter, one in the bed, and a fourth one shattered on the floor from where it had been thrown.

It felt like an icebox, but he was too drunk to notice. He was sprawled across his bed only partially dressed.

What had life done to him? What had _she_ done to him?…He didn't know. All he could do now was ride the waves as best he could, let his mind take him into what ever dreams were waiting for him and face it head on…hope for the best.

So, the whirlpool of visions carried him into another place in time.

* * *

John was standing in the graveyard. The midnight hours had blanketed the city in black night.

He stood silently, reading the gravestone that said: _Chas Kramer 1985-2005_

He glanced to where he had laid his cigarette lighter, finding that the golden flicker still remained, in the dream at least.

He recalled the last words uttered by him in this place; "_You did good, kid."_

He shook his head slowly, feeling such a great amount of regret; regret of being as hard as he was on the boy when all he wanted to do was help.

John was cold to everyone, and sometimes it seemed like the people he cared about the most always got the worst end of the deal.

He closed his eyes tightly, fitting his open hand over them and blocking the tears. He might have been as hard as stone, but it didn't mean he didn't hurt inside. It was that pain alone that had brought him to be the man he was; a scorned, bitter hero.

Then came a sound.

John opened his eyes to find himself standing in the center of a neighborhood street on a gray day. The houses looked like they had seen better days, but maybe their residents had seen better days themselves, or maybe they had always lived like this…he had.

The thunder seemed to roll in the sky like a marble over granite.

He heard the sound of a ball being hit against the ground like the steady beat of a drum. He turned around slowly, hoping to see who was bouncing that ball.

The little girl, about twelve or thirteen years old, she was standing there alone on the street mesmerizing herself with a worn basketball. The ball itself had been repainted with the stain of dirt.

Her long, dark brown hair was pulled up into a ponytail and she wore casual clothes as she always did. This child was none other than his niece.

It had been months since he had laid eyes on her, and she had been a hand-full for him, though he had learned to love this child that he had gone so many years without knowing.

"_Gemma…." _he uttered her name.

She continued to bounce the ball, but at the mention of her name she had turned her head to look at him.

A small smile seemed to plague her lips at the sight of her uncle, but he only continued to stare solemnly into her as if some longing had withered his very soul.

Then her smile had been seized and she caught the ball, allowing it to bounce no more, and she uttered unto him a warning that stung him like a hornet.

"You're not safe. Something bad is going to happen."

The ground beneath her began to crack and tear open like an earthquake, the sky started roaring with more thunder and the houses began to fall apart.

She screamed as she began to fall into the pit that had been unzipped within the road, and he tried to get to her but he couldn't.

Gemma had been pulled down into a spinning twister of red-flaming hell as gangly beasts tossed her from one to the other.

"JOHN!" her voice echoed.

"GEMMA!"

He wanted to throw himself in, go after her; but his only hope of ending this nightmare would be to wake up, and so he did.

* * *

John sat up in bed, panting heavily and hoping for breath. His head was drenched in sweat, and when he held his hands up for examining he could see that they were shaking like the tail of a rattlesnake.

"Gemma…" He remembered.

In his moment of rush, he stumbled over to the phone to dial a number. It was lucky that he remembered that number well.

"Hello? Hello?" his voice was panicked.

At last, the phone was answered.

"Hello? Gemma?"

"John? ...What the hell is wrong?" it was his sister, Cheryl. "Why are you calling at this hour?" her voice was tired.

"I had a nightmare about Gemma." he said.

"What?"

"Check on her."

"Uh…okay, hold on."

Cheryl laid the phone down and wandered into a bedroom across the narrow hall from hers. She flicked on a small lamp only to see Gemma sleeping heavily with her chubby cat stretched out over her back.

She sighed and returned to the telephone in her bedroom.

"John, she's sleeping like a baby."

He didn't reply in words, only in heavy breathing.

Cheryl lifted a brow.

"John, are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah." he replied at length. "I think I just had too much to drink."

"…Figures." his sister sighed. "Look John, I have to get some sleep. I've got to get up for a damn job interview in an hour."

"Sorry I disturbed your peace."

He hung up and returned to his bed.

The exorcist spent some long minutes on the edge of his mattress, holding his head and trying to retain himself. He couldn't put two and two together. Maybe he _had_ drunk to much, he was after all drunk. Then again, maybe it _was _a warning.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	13. Chapter XIII: Warnings

**CHAPTER XIII: Warnings**

Around the hours of morning, she found herself knocking at his door yet again, hoping he wouldn't answer so that she could just slip the copies under the crack and leave; but alas...he answered, considering that he was so tired that he could scarcely drag himself to accomplish the task.

"I uh, just wanted to give you these. You asked for them last night." Angela was holding four sheets of paper in front of him, recalling the awkward moment as she spoke.

He looked like one who'd been dragged through the dirt, but he thought that she looked pretty damn good in that deep red lipstick with her auburn hair hanging all about her shoulders.

She sighed, annoyance ringing in her tone. She knew he had just came out of a hangover.

"John? ...John?" she tried.

He lazily snatched the papers from her.

"Thanks." he managed, folding them in his hands, still bitter with her.

She could feel herself blushing. It had come to Angela that John was shirtless. Finally, a side of him she had not yet witnessed.

"Well," she spoke matter-of-factly, "I'd best be going."

"Where?" he asked gruffly.

"To work, John." she replied, a bashful smile playing at her lips.

"I'm going somewhere myself."

"With a shirt on, I hope." she mused.

"Do you? I hardly believe that." he taunted, raw-toned.

Angela rolled her eyes, giving into a more pronounced grin.

"So, where you headed? Or, do I need to know?"

"To see my niece."

"Really? That's a good uncle…tell Gemma I said hello."

"Yeah….say, do you think you could let me have a look into that kid sometime?"

"I'm pretty sure I can set up a visit." Angela replied. "Would tommorrow work?"

"Tomorrow would be fine."

He took a moment to take her in. She had a natural beauty about her that he found to be a promising and rare quality; and when she stood in the right lighting, her hair became more than just auburn, it shined of a chestnut brown. He liked that.

"I guess I'd better be going." she told him.

"Yeah, _I_ should get dressed."

"Right."

"See ya." he sighed.

"You too."

He closed the door apprehensively, almost hating to lose the sight of her face even if he _was_ going to see her again.

She left the building in little time and drove on to the L.A.P.D. as she had planned.

* * *

When John arrived at Gemma's house, he was greeted by his somewhat aggravated older sister.

"John? What the hell are you doing here?"

Cheryl was shocked. She always was when he popped up because he seldom popped up at all.

"There must be trouble." she groaned, letting him step inside.

"Not entirely." he corrected her.

"Right, John." she sneered, shutting the door.

The house reeked of cigarettes and liquor. It always did.

Cheryl Masters was a good, honest woman and a devoted mother, but like her brother she was a smoker and a drunk. The smoking had always been a habit of hers but the drinking was something her husband had hooked her on.

"So," she mused, waving the cigarette that was squeezed between her polished fingers around. "what the hell do you want?"

"Coffee?" he took a moment to annoy her.

"Oh don't give me any shit. You didn't just come over here in a taxi cab for _coffee_. It's about that dream of Gemma, right? You want to tell me about it…"

"No. I want to tell _her_ about it. Where is she?"

"School."

"When will she be home?"

"Bout' an hour? Listen John, if you want to tell her something, I'll be glad to give the message."

"Cheryl, this is something I need to sort out with her…please try to understand."

"Oh right," she mocked, throwing her arms up. "I forgot that you and her have super powers that mom doesn't understand."

"_Super powers_…" He sneered at the title. It was so much more, but he didn't expect Cheryl to understand. She never did really, even when she tried.

"Well if you're going to be hanging around here, I think I'll just go on and head to the grocery store. I need to pick up some things for a small Christmas party…you're invited by the way, not that you'll show or anything; but I'm inviting you so I won't feel like I'm being a bad sister."

"Yeah." he replied with little interest.

John and Cheryl weren't close at all. After all that had happened in Ravenscar, John had distanced himself from his family, and it wasn't until just recent months ago that he had briefly got back in with them. Though, it didn't mean she didn't mean something to him. She was better to her brother than either of their parents had ever been.

Alone at last, he found himself absentmindedly wandering through the house, glancing carelessly over whatnots and photographs until his eyes caught interest in a picture framed in lavender.

He gently snatched it from the mantle, seeing that it was clearly Gemma, but at a younger age. She looked to be seven in the photo and there was something about it that tugged at John's heart. Perhaps it had something to do with the simple fact that he hadn't been around to watch her grow up; and for that he felt a little guilt.

She was a lot like him in more ways than many. Her attitude and overall outlook on life for one thing. She hated her own father as he did his, she had his eyes and she shared the same gift as him: Seeing things that were unexplained by most. But being more outgoing and adventurous than her uncle; Gemma had found _her_ gift rather cool.

"Mom, I'm home." she said, tossing her baseball cap and heavy backpack onto the floor.

Her voice jumped him into setting the photo back and wandering into the hall to greet her.

When she looked up to see who was standing there and staring at her with a half-smirk, she lit up brighter than the Christmas lights that were strung sloppily on the small tree in the den.

"Uncle John!"

"Hey kid."

She rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

John felt compelled to throw at least one arm over her back. As much as he hated to admit it, it was clear that Gemma had cast some spell over him that had brought out a more tolerating Constantine. Funny as it seemed, she was the only girl who knew how to do that. It was a talent that even the great exorcist himself couldn't explain.

"I had no idea you were here! God, I'm so happy!"

"Yeah, I'm glad to see you too."

Since their last escapade, Gemma had found a new hero in John. Love was clearly an understatement. He meant more to her than her own father could ever mean, and it came as no surprise since he was by no doubt more caring towards her than her dad had been.

Gemma's hope as far as her future was concerned, was that she wanted to carry on doing just what her uncle did. Her hopes of getting a drivers license meant more than just saying she was old enough to drive; it meant that she would be old enough to become his next apprentice. John didn't know it yet, but that was her goal.

"Where's mom?"

"She went out…to the store." he replied, recalling Cheryl saying something about groceries.

"Probably to get some stuff for the Christmas party. I'm not even going to bother you with an invitation. All that's going to show up is Grandma and a bunch of old women."

"Your mother already _tried_ to invite me."

They both retired into the den, taking a seat on the old floral 70's sofa.

"Mom said you called last night. She said you had a nightmare about me."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about." he explained.

"I think I might have an ideal of what you dreamed."

John looked at her with puzzlement.

"Because _I_ had a dream about _you_." she went on.

"Tell me about it." he requested.

"I dreamed that I was standing in the street in front of our house bouncing a basketball, then all of a sudden I looked behind me and there _you _were; standing in front of a grave. You looked at me and said; _"You're not safe, Gemma."_ then suddenly this earthquake started happening and I tried to get to you but you fell into hell…it was awful."

"That's my dream, except it's _you_ telling _me_ that I'm in danger, and it's _you_ falling in." he said.

"What does it mean? Are we telepathic?"

_"Telepathic..."_ he snorted. "No kid, it's a warning of some sort."

"A warning?"

"I think you and I both need to watch our backs extra close; take our dreams to heart. They mean something, I just don't quite know what it is just yet."

Gemma's glare dashed away from him, and he could see that her brown eyes were troubled.

"I hate to put this off on my thirteen year old niece, but…"

"I can handle it." she cut in sharply, reminding him that she wasn't a baby.

"Yeah. Like I said, just watch your back more carefully."

John reached into his coat pocket, fingering for something inside.

"Here, wear this."

"What is that?" she asked, intrigued.

"It belonged to a friend of mine once. Don't take it off."

He slipped the necklace around Gemma's neck, and she wavered the fascinating symbol that hung from it's chain in her hand.

"Is this supposed to protect me from evil spirits?" she asked, a half-smirk painted on her face. John knew she treasured such things.

"Pretty much. I loaned it to Angela once, but being as stubborn as she was she took it off."

"And something bad happened, right?"

"Right."

"I'll keep it on, uncle John. Thanks."

He smirked weakly at her.

"Uncle John?"

"What, kid?"

"I was wondering if I could ask you something."

"About demons and exorcisms?"

"Not exactly."

"That's a first. What's on your mind?"

"Well, I know you might laugh or better yet sneer, but there's going to be a carnival in McAuthur Park and I don't have anyone to take me. Mom's going to be working all day tomorrow and by the time she gets home, she'll be too tired to go, and tomorrow's the last day the carnival will be here."

John sighed, shaking his head in exhaustion.

"I don't have time." he simply told her.

"But you never spend any time with me."

"I'm busy, Gemma."

"You didn't get involved with me until just six months ago. _Six months ago_, and it's been half a year since I've seen you! We live in the same city for crying out loud!"

"You know why it's hard for me to get too close to anyone."

"Yeah, but none of us have the promise of tomorrow." she reminded him. "You can never guarantee anyone's safety, even if you don't get around them….you act like you're cursed."

"I am." he snapped, rolling his hand through his hair.

"Oh please. Then I guess I am too." she leaned back against the couch, crossing her arms. "You're not the only one in this family who sees crap, you know."

"Gemma, I don't have time for carnivals."

"Can't you just give in a little? It's not like you're going to spend Christmas with me. Why not let this be our Christmas moment together? It'll be the perfect gift to give your only niece."

"I don't do Christmas. Never have."

"You did when you were a kid."

"My Christmases were shit."

"So are mine. It's not like mom and me have a whole lot."

"There's no arguing with you, is there?" he growled.

"Just forget it!" she pouted, turning away from him in the seat.

John made yet another exhaling sound.

He knew it was true. He never was there for her the way he should be. He was single, no kids... the least he could do was take up one day with her.

"Can't you ask some friends at school?" he tried.

"I can't hang around those losers."

John rolled his fingers through his hair. His eyes wandered to the photograph of Gemma that he had been studying earlier. The way she smiled with those little braces stung his heart in such a way that he found it unreasonable to say no again.

"Alright." he mumbled. "I'll take you."

"You're the best!" she beamed, throwing her arms over him.

He hated being smothered with hugs.

"But I can't make any promises. I've got a few things I need to take care of tomorrow."

"When will you be done?"

"Probably by noon."

"That's perfect. We can go at about five or six o'clock." There really was no arguing with Gemma.

* * *

On the other side of L.A. someone else was having dilemmas of her own.

_I can feel it coming back, that fear…that same fear._

_The dark hole that I fell into when Dad became paralyzed by his accident... I think I'm slowly beginning to fall back in again._

_Oh John, I don't want to blame you or anyone; but ever since our last escapade in the graveyard I've been haunted by returning nightmares. I've come to dread my sleep because of it, forcing myself to stay awake as long as I can…makes me feel like a little kid who's afraid of the dark._

_God I…I wouldn't mind maybe talking to you, John; because I know you're the only one who understands. But I just don't want to get mixed up with you…dad moved us away for a reason…that reason was you._

_Now I'm afraid to go outside. I keep coming up with lame excuses as to why I should keep to myself within the safety of these walls, a__nd right about now I'm looking pretty pathetic to myself._

_I just want to crawl up under a rock and hide, never come out again. Maybe I'm just weak, maybe I'm just being unreasonably foolish. It's not like I can live my whole life as a hermit…God I just don't have the money for another therapist. I've been down that road before, I don't want to travel it again._

She was unaware of how tight she had been grasping on to the handle of the coffee mug, unaware of how tired it had made her hand; straining so hard to hold something so simple.

The last of the rain drops pecked against the glass window and she held the curtain partially open to look out into the grayness of the dark world yonder that she considered herself to be hiding from.

Her eyes were heavy from the sleep she had lost; and her chest felt tight, making her every breath an uncomfortable task.

She was apprehensive of having company. Her frizzy, dull hair and dark-circled eyes would be a sure giveaway that she was troubled, and Katherine wasn't the type to have anyone dipping into her personal life. So, her friends had been put on the backburner as had anyone else who cared to stop by.

She called her uncle Danny; telling him that she needed some time off to get over a head cold…but she was lying.

Her mind was drenched in racing thoughts that made her head pound with a splitting migraine. The dim lighting of the house didn't help much either in easing that dark cloud that seemed to drift over her head now, nor did this depressing December weather.

She sighed, her breath shaken and unsteady.

Then, the dog's barking tore her from her thoughts, making her jump in her bedroom slippers; something she didn't normally do.

"_Since when does Max's barking unnerve me?"_

She followed the continuous voice of an excited retriever who wagged his tail anxiously as he waited for her to open the door. Katherine hesitated but at last opened it to a smiling little girl with freckles.

"Hi Ms. Ryan, hi Max!" The child beamed; but her smile slowly ceased when she saw how exhausted Ms. Ryan looked.

"Gosh Ms. Ryan, you look dog-tired! No offense, Max."

Max tilted his head with curiosity.

"None taken." Katherine said with a half smile as she rolled her eyes.

"What is it you wanted, sweetie?" Katherine asked with a little distress in her tone.

"Well, I made these brownies here for the old man down the street; you know, the one on welfare…Mr. Henderson?"

"Yes?" Katherine mused.

"Anyway, mommy wasn't able to take me because my baby brother has a cold and she has to take care of him and she sent me over here because you're the only person in the neighborhood that mommy trusts around us, besides Ms. Ruth, but she's gone; so I came over here because mommy thought, and I was thinking, that you could maybe go over with me to the old man's house and give him these brownies, because it's the holidays."

The little girl gasped for air. Her fast, nonstop talking had left her breathless.

"Beth, I'm a little under the weather myself." Katherine replied after deciphering what it was that had just poured from the child's lips.

"But Ms. Ryan, please! If we don't deliver these brownies to Mr. Henderson now, daddy will eat them when he comes home and we'll have to bake them all over again!"

_"What's so hard about just telling him not to eat the brownies, hide them even? And so what if you have to bake more? At least they'll be fresher." _she thought. "Listen Beth, sweetheart, today's not a good day for me. I'm really busy." she told the little girl.

"But you're in your pajamas." Beth pointed out, expressing a pitiful expression.

Katherine had a hundred and one excuses to say no, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. It was Christmas, a time for children, and saying no to Beth would likely break her heart. She was a sensitive child.

"Alright, I'll walk with you, but I'm not staying. We'll drop the brownies off and leave afterwards."

"YAY!" Beth squeaked as she followed Katherine into the house, skipping alongside an excited Max as she headed for the sofa in the den.

"I'll be right down." Katherine said, making way for the stairs.

"Okay."

After slipping into some decent clothes and brushing her hair, Katherine stepped briefly into her father's room on her way out, making sure that he would be alright until she returned. She kissed his forehead lightly and headed out to take Beth down to Mr. Henderson's old house.

"Ms. Ryan," Beth began as they carried on down the sidewalk.

"Yeah?"

"You're the bestest lady there is."

Katherine laughed a little, expressing how relieved she was that it didn't take anymore than a mere little girl to bring her out of her dark shell before she even fell in good. "_Kids...." _she thought.

She never was much of a babysitter, but she didn't mind the company of a child. Somehow, it always lifted her mood being near one.

They stood on the stoop of a rundown townhouse, it's old withered bricks jutting out with cracks and crevices.

Katherine held the brownies in her arms as Beth reached up to ring the doorbell.

They could hear it echo inside; a simple ding-dong.

"Ms. Ryan, may I hold the brownies now? I want to give them to him."

"Sure." Katherine smiled, carefully handing the brownies back to the child.

The door opened, and they were greeted by a shriveled old man.

The old African American fellow looked to be eighty, maybe even ninety, with a cane in one hand and oxygen tubes running into his nose. The sight of the tubes settled within Katherine rather deploringly as it reminded her of how her father, who was much younger than this poor fellow, had to live now.

"Hi Mr. Henderson." Beth smiled.

"Mr. Henderson, I hope it's not a bad time. Beth here was bent on giving out brownies to all of the neighbors; and she thought that you might like some as well."

Katherine hated to see anyone treated like charity. She knew how rewarding it could be to receive sincere handouts, but no one wanted to be humiliated by looking needy and worthless…at least most folk who had pride.

"Oh, oh!" Mr. Henderson smiled. "You sweet girls, please come inside."

He was a kind old man, but very much alone. He was one of the many people who were left without the joys of family during the most longing time of the year…_Christmas_.

"You sweet girls didn't have to bring those brownies to me, but I sure do appreciate it. I wish I had something to give you but I'm afraid I don't, unless you'd like some peppermint."

Katherine chuckled.

"No thanks." she smiled.

"Where'd you like me to put the brownies?" Beth asked.

"Right on that old coffee table, little lady."

As Beth wandered over to the table, Mr. Henderson quickly turned his attention back towards Katherine.

"Is she your's?"

"No sir. I'm just a neighbor."

"Oh. Well I don't think I caught your name, young lady."

"Oh how rude of me…I'm Katherine Ryan."

She reached out to shake his hand, but when they touched something happened…something out of the ordinary. An electric shock wave seized through her entire body. It's final destination was her gut, and it brought her to feel overwhelmed with nausea.

Next, he uttered something to her that settled something dark in her very soul.

"There is an evil spirit in your house. You must be careful." he muttered.

"Wh-" she swallowed, "What?"

"I said; there is an evil spirit in your house. You must be careful." he repeated.

She gasped, not sure if he was insane, or purposely trying to frighten her.

He pulled her hand closer, placing his other shaken hand over it gently.

Katherine began to tremble and shake her head at him as if she were in some denial.

"You must be...mistaken." she told him.

"You must not be afraid, but cautious."

"I-I," she babbled, "I have to go. Beth, we need to leave now."

She thrust away from the old man's clutch and out of the house, not thinking clearly enough to see if whether or not the child was following her; though gladly, she was.

"Ms. Ryan? Ms. Ryan, what's wrong?"

But Katherine did not heed to Beth's voice. She kept pacing instead, intent on one thing and one thing only: Getting to her dad.

Her steps quickened and she tumbled through the front door of her house, brushing Max off as he begged her for attention.

She raced upstairs into her father's room and relief slowly eased it's way back into her. The panting seized.

"Dad…" she uttered silently as she knelt beside his wheelchair.

He remained before the running television like a vegetable, unable to move, unable to comfort her or stroke her hair with parental compassion as he once would have done. He loved her dearly, but he could no longer express that love.

Here she was now, sobbing into his lap; grieving heavily as she clutched his baggy pajama bottoms.

"Oh God…" she grieved, her vocals muffled as she bared her face into him. "What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to freaking do?"

"Dad…" she called to him pointlessly. "…Dad, please come back to me…"

The oxygen machine might have been more reliable to speak at this point.

* * *

By midnight she found herself in the bathroom brushing her teeth and washing her face; the usual routine. The cold tiled floor beneath her made her toes feel numb.

She slapped some lotion on her face, waiting a few minutes before rubbing it of with a hot cloth.

The cloth was tossed aside, and she began to rinse her face with cooler water from the sink; but all was not well with her. She felt like someone was watching her, staring at her with a malicious eyes. She'd felt that all day, ever since the warning she had received from the old man.

She lifted her head slowly. The sink handle squeaked as she turned off the running water.

_"Hello, Kathy."_

"OH MY GOD!" She fell backwards, tumbling against a metal towel rack. All of the contents of the shelf fell upon her, but her eyes remained wide and fixated on the figure in the mirror.

There in the glass reflector stood a blonde haired man dressed in a brown leather jacket. He looked forty and gauntly, almost green. His clothes were worn and tattered and he stood with his hands in his pockets and an aged, unlit cigarette in his mouth.

"I'm seeing things, I'm going crazy!" she felt hypertention boiling inside her.

"Come on, Kath..." said the blonde bloke, relaxing himself and taking the cigarette from his thick lips. "Is that any way to greet an old lover?"

_"I'm just going to close my eyes, and when I open them I'm going to see that I was dreaming." _She shut her eyes tightly and reopened them. The mirror was empty of any male presence.

"You're not crazy...you're not crazy...you're not crazy...the son of a bitch is dead...he's dead." she kept telling herself as she crawled like a frightened beast to her bedroom.

She pushed the door shut, locking it and remaining on the floor. She could only pray that she was not ill, that she would eventually find the strength to crawl in bed and push it out of her head; but it wasn't that simple. He wasn't going to leave her be just yet.

"So..." he hissed.

He stood across from her in the long, wood-framed wall mirror. The offensive odor of smoke began to fill the air.

Katherine swallowed. It felt as if a rock had been lodged in her throat. She stared at him, this cocky, unwelcome entity.

"Where've you been all my life, babe?"

"Hiding from you." she said. "What the hell do you want?"

"Just to see how you're fairing without me." he chuckled. "Doesn't look like you're doing as good as you thought you would."

"I suppose you're here to haunt me?"

"Ah, baby...I would've died a happier man if I could've seen you naked."

"What do you want, Trent?"

"I want you, nothing more and nothing less."

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Author's Notes:

_The dream that Kit mentioned in chapter nine was somewhat inspired by a dream my mother had, so DO NOT use that idea. It belongs to it's rightful owners. _


	14. Chapter XIV: The Sweetest Kiss

**CHAPTER XIV: The Sweetest Kiss Never Lasts**

The corridor was accented in small strands of garland taped to the walls. The Christmas décor and the colorful children's drawings of Santa, trees and reindeer taped on numerous billboards brought a bit of cheer to the place.

"Never was this welcoming when I was a kid." John commented with sourness.

"Tell me something," Angela began, "have you ever felt welcome by anything?"

John didn't answer, he just popped some nicoderm in his mouth, not amused by the smirk on Angela's face.

"Detective Dodson?" questioned the doctor standing outside of the door.

"Yes." she said, flashing her badge.

The doctor gave a simple nod and allowed them inside.

"May we speak with him alone?" Angela asked.

"Yes, I'll shut the door." the man replied.

The sound of the door sliding shut and locking in place sent a chill to John's heart. It brought back memories, memories he wished he didn't have.

"Detective?" the boy's voice contained some sense of surprise. He didn't expect to see her back so soon.

"Hi Gavin." Angela smiled.

Gavin was seated on his bed, entertaining himself with a handheld game offered to him by one of the nurses.

"You brought along another detective to see me?"

"Sort of. He's a different kind of detective."

John stepped closer to the boy, giving him a stare that made Gavin uneasy.

Angela's eyes often met John's face and she wondered herself when he was going to stop making the boy feel uncomfortable and say something.

Gavin hated the way John stared at him, as if he was trying to read him. He shifted his eyes away from the man clad in black and landed them back onto his gaming. He no longer wanted to acknowledge the glare. John's words however, would bring Gavin's eyes back upon him.

"I'm John Constantine; paranormal investigator."

He reached out to shake the boy's hand, only to receive a reluctant expression.

"Didn't she tell you about my hands?" he asked.

"Yeah." John replied.

"I don't want to hurt anyone."

John glanced down at the game console in Gavin's clutch and then back at him.

"It only affects people?"

"Yes." the boy replied grimly.

"Give me your hand." John told him.

"John?" Angela was puzzled.

The boy paused. Hesitation was a wall between the request.

"Give me your hand, kid."

Gavin remained silent, his lips parted as his eyes blinked with bewilderment.

"Trust me, I've been burned by worse." John assured him.

"John, I wouldn't…" but Angela's words were ignored and Gavin slowly clutched John's hand.

Energy was transferred from the boy to the man. The heat was an intense sequence, a burning as unbearable as the eye of a stove.

John jerked his hand away, shaking it wildly as steam tapered from his skin.

"Here!" Angela grabbed his unscathed hand and led him into the small washroom.

He let the cool water ease the burn. His palm had turned flaming red.

"So, that hot huh?" Angela uttered.

"Yeah. Pretty damn hot." he exclaimed.

"How is it possible?" she pondered.

"There's only a few good ways to find out. I'll need to pay a visit to Midnite."

"What about that Ambroas guy you mentioned?"

"If Midnite doesn't have an answer, then maybe _he_ will."

"Here," Angela took a small washcloth from a shelf, soaking it in the cold water and wrapping it around John's hand. "Maybe that'll help."

"Thanks." he slipped out as he headed back towards the door.

"I hope I didn't hurt you too bad." Gavin said as the two adults stepped out of the washroom.

"I'll see you again. Maybe next time I'll have some answers." John said.

"Answers?" The boy was curious. Would they have answers about his hands?

But neither of the adults replied, and the boy with the hands was left to form curious thoughts of the strange visitation.

"Can I give you a lift anywhere?" Angela offered when they had returned to the sunny parking lot.

"No." he replied to her. "I won't be seeing Midnite until tomorrow."

"Why not today?"

"I promised a girl I'd take her to a carnival."

"A girl?" Angela questioned, lifting a suspecting brow.

"Thirteen."

Angela knew it was Gemma, but now she thought it clever to turn the tables on him.

"So, you like them young?"

John smirked a little, fingering in his coat for some fresh gum.

"Angela," he began, pausing her from slipping into the SUV.

"What?" her eyes were set upon him and they were dangerously close to one another.

"There's something I've been wanting to give you, but I've never had the chance."

"What is it?" she asked, expressing deep curiosity.

"Just…this…."

"…John?"

He slowly pressed closer to her, aiming for her lips.

"Just don't turn away this time." he asked with much emotion.

She allowed his lips to meet hers and they kissed for minutes that felt like the rush of hot summer hours.

Angela slipped her arm around his neck, letting it dangle loosely; enticing the exorcist to pull her closer to him as their lips tightened.

She could feel the rushing sensation of desires that she had longed to meet. At last, he had helped her accomplish that task.

His breath was of the gum he chewed, and it wasn't a refreshing scent. But she didn't care. There was something in this kiss that made her realize that she was deeply wrong about so many things. She did need him in her life, she did want him, and she was prepared to face whatever darkness that lurked around the corners. She wasn't afraid and wouldn't be; as long as he remained by her side, and she knew he would. She loved him and he loved her; it was made clear by the touch of his lips. A quick change of heart, yes, but she thought it reasonable.

As much as they dreaded it, they at last parted.

Angela turned away, looking for something to say without looking foolish.

John kept his stare on her, acknowledging the strong passion he shared for her. He waited for her to speak, to comment on the kiss and hopefully more.

At last, she managed.

"That was…the most incredible kiss."

"Incredible?" he mused with the small glint of ego.

"Yeah." she threw him a small smile, still trying to hide her flushed cheeks. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For something I've been waiting for forever."

Silence cut between them, both of them staring into the other's eyes in their moment of glow. John wanted to take her home, make her his for all eternity and she might have agreed.

"Can I ask you something?"

"What, John?" she asked, a bashful glow flaming in her hazel eyes.

"Has it changed your mind?"

She hesitated, trying to find the right words to offer him. She wanted to say yes, but she didn't know how. She wanted to tell him, but it had to be perfect. The parking lot wasn't her ideal of a romantic confession.

"It's something I should…think about." she left with him.

"I see. Well, see ya around?"

"Yeah." she replied.

He watched as she slipped into the SUV and drove away.

She tried to watch him in the rear view mirror, but she had to keep her eyes on the road ahead.

John remained with his hands tucked into his coat pockets, still smiling to himself about his moment with Angela. He'd kissed many girls many times before; but none of them meant to him what Angela did. She was different from those girls that John use to mingle with. The other women always brought out the worst in him, but the only time Angela brought him down was when he thought she didn't need him. Now there was hope that he had changed her mind.

The exorcist slipped away with a heart full of pleasures. It was difficult getting Angela out of his thoughts; but in the hidden corners of the street there were cold eyes upon him, a stare as sharp and fierce as daggers themselves…Ellie.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

**Author's Notes:** YES! She kissed him! I wanted that scene in the movie, but they never gave it to us! But here it is…The next chapter will be dark and violent.

Oh, reader who doesn't write, that was a good point you pointed out to me. I fixed it where you can see her emotions when she asked him. Oh, and if you have an account here on fanfiction, you may want to leave me a signed review from now on. It makes it easier for us to communicate. lol. And I can answer questions that way.


	15. Chapter XV: Carnival Of Hell

**CHAPTER XV: Carnival Of Hell**

The Following Night…

---------------------------

_Carnivore Carnival_

_December 13__th__-14__th_

_6pm to 2 am._

_McAuthur Park_

_--------------------------_

"_Carnivore Carnival?" _John lifted a brow as he scanned over a poster dangling on a telephone pole.

"Cool title, huh?" Gemma grinned. She loved anything that sounded dark and mysterious.

The parking lot laid desolate and the closer they came to the entrance, the more bare, uninhabited and deserted the place seemed.

"This is strange…" John couldn't help but comment.

"Most people are probably Christmas shopping."

"In Los Angeles? McAuthur Park?" he questioned his niece.

"Well, I see a few people." she snapped, condescendingly.

"Yeah, _employees_." he pointed out.

Gemma was determined not to allow her uncle to ruin her chance for fun. She knew he was only complaining because he didn't want to be here.

"I bet they get more business during the day." she said.

"But aren't carnivals supposed to be more fun at night? That's when they're all lit up and pretty." he scowled.

"I don't know why it bothers you so much. If it were crowded, you'd just complain about there being too many people around."

"How many?" The man behind the concession stand was pale and he had a frightening expression of hate painted on his face. Perhaps a bad day on the job.

"Hey mister, have you had a lot of business today?" Gemma asked.

"Uh, yeah…mostly during the day." he frowned.

"See, John?"

"How many?" the fellow reiterated.

"One brat, one adult." John answered.

Gemma made a face at her uncle.

"Twenty bucks." the man said, still retaining his taciturn stance.

"Twenty bucks?" John asked. "For this shit hole?"

"Uncle John…please…."

"Fine. Here's twenty bucks for nothing." John slammed the money on the desk and the man behind the stand opened the metal gate, allowing them to step in.

"Aren't you supposed to give us our tickets?" Gemma asked.

"No need for tickets, kid…enjoy yourself." he barely took his cold eyes off of them as they continued to step in.

"Uh…okay…" Gemma followed her uncle into the amusement park of emptiness.

A chain was draped heavily onto the metal gate, and John and Gemma turned to see the concession man locking them in.

"Can't have any hoboes sneekin' in." he explained himself, his face blank of any expression. "The exit's on the other end…_if you manage_."

"Manage? I wonder what he meant by that?"

"No telling." John replied.

They walked around, finding only the company of a janitor and a man wandering around in a heavy coat.

"This place is too empty for comfort." John pointed out.

They turned a corner, approaching a roller coaster that looked to be more than sixty years old.

"That looks like fun. Why don't we ride it?"

"I don't know, Gemma. Thing could be broken. There must be some reason why this park is so empty."

"But isn't that what we came for? Don't you want to get your money's worth?"

"I guess." he stated. "But let's ride something that doesn't look so hazardous first…get a feel for the place."

"Uncle John, look. There's some people over there." Gemma pointed.

"Let's go. Maybe you can play a few carnival games."

"Yeah, sure." she replied.

Playful carnival music grew louder as they approached the small crowd of people standing and staring at a colorful, yet rutty stage before them.

The people stood, listening intent on every word the man on the stage laid out for them. He tried amusing these blank-faced, motionless figures with cheap tricks that a ten year old would be better at.

"How many cards am I holding up? Five. But which one of these cards are blank? Who wants to guess? Hmmm?" The magician grinned.

He was stoutly built, cloaked in black and his face was almost a sickly color of pale, fleshy green; or so it looked in the dim light.

"Come on... anyone?" he asked.

The crowd remained still, unmoved by any word. John and Gemma lingered in the back.

"What about that little princess back there?" the magician's eyes wandered upon Gemma. "Why don't you step up here and guess the blank card?"

She was hesitant, but the magician leaped from the stage and made his way to her. The blank-faced audience members turned themselves to look upon the girl who now had the attention of the magician.

"What's your name?" he asked her.

"Gemma Masters." she replied.

"This your daddy?" he looked at John crazily, his smirk said: _insane_.

"I'm her uncle."

"Ah…why don't you guess a card and I'll give you a prize?"

"Um…" Gemma glanced at the cards. "That one?" she tried.

He turned the card over slowly, revealing to her a blank. Another crazy smile creased onto his wrinkled face.

"_Good girly…" _he whispered.

John did not find his creepy sense of socialism very welcoming.

"And here's my prize for you." the magician reached into his pocket. "AHA!" he beamed, making Gemma jump at not only his sharp, obnoxious voice, but at the dead frog dangling in his hand; it's guts were pouring out of it's open stomach.

The magician burst into an uncontrollable laugh, still dangling the dead toad in front of Gemma. The audience remained silent and they expressed no reaction at all.

"Come on, kid. Let's get away from this fruitcake." John said, guiding his niece away. "His mind's as blank as the five cards in his hand, as are the rest of these morons."

"I don't think I want anything to eat." Gemma sighed, still stunned by the state of the dead frog. "Do you think it was fake?"

"If it was, it's the cheapest trickery I've seen yet." John snarled. "Come on, we're getting the hell out of here."

With that tone in his voice, Gemma wasn't up to arguing. She followed her uncle as they searched for the exit.

There stood a long, slow moving line of people waiting to go inside of a clown-headed dome. The clown had a mocking expression of evil with it's wildly sculpted hair, yellow eyes, and the sharp fangs and gangly tongue that made up the tunneled entrance.

"Is that the exit?" she asked as they fell into the back of the line.

"That's what it says." John replied as the line began to move like a slow heard of cattle being rounded into a corral.

In a moment's time they were standing in the open mouth of the clown before a large door. Eventually, an employee opened the door for them and they stepped inside and it was slammed shut behind them.

"What the hell is this?" John questioned.

"Uncle John, I can't see!"

"Just hang on to my coat. I'll open this door."

But the door had been locked and they had only one choice: To remain in the darkness.

"Damn…" his voice echoed. "Is there anybody here?"

They stood blindly inside the clown dome until they were approached by the partial sight of a long, human chin, dangling a small lantern in front of herself. The old hag held the lantern higher, getting a glimpse of the faces before her and allowing them to glimpse hers.

"There's one last ride before you get to the exit." she grinned. "Follow me."

"I'm not following you any damn where." John said.

"What?" she looked at him innocently, and then the old hag released a light chuckle. "No, no…you cannot go back now. The only way out is through this way…it's only just a ride." she uttered.

Eventually, John gave in to following her in the dark. He could feel Gemma slipping her hand into his, and when he felt her tremble, he pulled her close to his side.

"Take your seat in the cart and strap yourselves in." she said as she shoved John into the small contraption. Gemma tumbled in with him, her hand still squeezed in his.

"Why don't you put a fucking light in this damn place?" he questioned.

The old woman only laughed before blowing out the light of the lantern.

Before John could revolt, the cart shifted into movement and began to roll uneasily down the track.

Up and down it rolled over two small slumps. Electric lights of blue static buzzed on and off from the damaged wires in the ceiling. The flickering light at least revealed to them that they were rolling in a small tunnel way.

The cart stopped, bumping violently into a large door. A new entrance was opened for them by the bump, and they began rolling down a more lighted railway.

"At least we can see better." Gemma uttered. She tried to remain brave, but John knew otherwise. He was leery of this himself.

"It'll be alright, kid." he whispered to her. She gave him a weak smirk.

When the cart brought them to yet another unlit room, it suddenly stopped and they could hear a door shutting behind them from the tunnel way.

There was silence.

"Uncle John, what are we supposed to do now? It's too dark to see again!"

"Just stay calm." he told her.

Their talking came to an end and now the only sound acknowledged in the lightless grim was their own breathing.

"Should we look for an exit?" Gemma asked in a whispered tone. But John did not answer.

"Uncle John?" she tried once more only to hear him shush her.

Then came a buzzing sound and above their heads a dim light bulb hanging from a wire had flickered on. Their eyes were fixated upon the dim, buzzing bulb for a few seconds time, then John slowly eased his way out of the cart and Gemma followed his movement.

He stood still, searching for the sight of a door and his suspicious behavior made Gemma all the more uneasy.

"There's a door!" he said, striding over to the large wooden exit. "Damn, it's locked!"

"Let's tear it down." Gemma fretted.

John looked at her, noticing her wide eyes and her heavy breathing. Then he searched the room, hoping to find something useful in tearing down a large, heavy door such as this. But a slick, cold voice froze him from moving any further.

"No need to tear it down." hissed the sour male presence.

John and Gemma scanned the room only to see no one there.

"Who the hell are you?" John demanded.

A figure cloaked in black stepped out of the shadows, revealing his cold face to them.

Gemma gasped at the sight of this well-muscled man, clinging to John's arm as she took in what little sight of his face she could bear.

His skin was a pale gray, his eyes a golden yellow, his hair white and long and his features strong. His large hands bared claws like that of a beast and when he stared at them, it felt as if he were searching for the most painful place to stab them.

"You don't know me, do you Constantine?" he asked. "But I know a great deal about you. I know enough about her too."

"I've come to the conclusion that this was all a set up. Am I right?" John questioned.

"You _are_ as clever as they say."

"As who says?"

"The ones who watch you. My soldiers, my demons." he licked his black lips. His tongue was almost reptilian.

"So, you've been watching me…well it's not the first time. I've been watched before."

"You're trouble, Constantine."

"So I've heard. Why don't you let us go?"

"I cannot do that so easily." he began to prowl about the room, never releasing his stare from them. "She's related to you, isn't she?"

"Why don't you let her go? Then you can have me all to yourself. I won't disappoint."

"See," he paused, bringing his palms against each other. "I want her here too, John. It's about time we put an end to…certain people who…get in the way or pose as a threat to _us_. And because the girl is so much like her dear…uncle is it?…she must indeed be put out of commission before she even gets started good."

John felt his heart sink to his feet. His body grew cold at the mere thought of someone laying a hand on Gemma.

"I swear, if you touch her I will make you beg for death at my hands." he scowled.

"Oh I don't want to get my hands dirty just yet. I thought I'd let my soldiers…" undead humans began to step out of the shadows behind him, the same ones who had mingled in the carnival; even the magician. "…take care of it for me." He grinned and then released the command. "Kill them."

The undead began to move forward, circling around John and Gemma who remained bucked up against the door. Their master slipped away, cleverly disappearing from the scene.

"Uncle John," Gemma's eyes had filled with terror. "I'm afraid. I don't want to die."

"Get behind me." he said. "I never step out unprepared."

From his inner coat pocket, John brought to his hand a small blade. It's golden handle was a crucifix, it's blade a bright shining sliver with a slender, sharp edge.

The human zombies began to move in on John, not seeming to care for the blade in his hand.

One of them took a swing at him, missing and only receiving the piercing knife through an eyeball. The stab brought the zombie to his knees as he wailed horribly with cold blood trickling down his cheek and neck.

John moved into another, stabbing this one in her very gut. She fell to the floor, vibrating, kicking and trying to hold in the uncontrollable blood that spat from the gash.

The next, another male, received a throat slit. But this one did not go down so easily. He punched John, sending him against the door; but as the big fellow leaped onto him, he landed heavily onto the knife's edge where it pierced his heart.

"Gemma!" John saw that she had been cornered by the old lady who had led them in by the lantern's light.

"Don't fight it deary." she whispered. "It'll all be over soon."

"Like hell!" Gemma punched the old woman's face, several times in fact until she was down. The girl intended to keep it at that, the old woman on the floor, and she continued to kick her harder and harder in the gut.

John was busy with the others, trying to keep them off of him and away from his niece all at once.

The room had become a ring of bloodshed and violence as they struggled for survival against the almost endless undead slaves.

Gemma's foot was at last released from the bloody, broken face of the old witch. Now she was searching for a way to open the door behind her while her uncle continued to finish off the remaining zombies.

The knob of the wooden door remained unmovable in it's iron stubbornness, but Gemma was not so easily discouraged. It seemed a pointless attempt, but the long pin in her hair was at this point an only option.

She gently worked it into the hole, hoping and praying to unlock it in time. She thought for a moment that she might have had it; but then a hand gripped her leg, jerking her to the floor in a violent rush.

The old woman was blooded and busted, but she could still see her victim clearly enough to take revenge on her.

Gemma yelped like a cornered dog, but John was overwhelmed with his own enemies. Had the old woman finally retained the upper hand? It certainly seemed so.

She clutched Gemma's throat like a python coiling around it's prey, letting out an unruly laugh as she spat specks of blood onto the girl's face.

"Oh don't be afraid deary…you remind me so much of my own little granddaughter. And like my little granddaughter, you're going to die at my hands. Only, I plan to make your's a hell of a lot more painful!"

"Let me just say this;" Gemma gasped. "Old women make lousy criminals." with that, the old woman's eye was gauged with the edge of Gemma's hair pen.

She shrilled in pain as she released the girl, holding her eye as the blood dripped through her fingers to the floor.

Gemma kicked her in the head, sending her to her side, and she was on the old woman in a haste, clutching her grey hair and slamming her head against the wood surface until she no longer reacted.

The girl jumped to her feet, returning to her work at the door. In a few minutes it had come unlocked and Gemma glanced behind her to call to her uncle.

"Uncle John! Come on! The door's open!"

John struggled to push his way out of the crowd of zombies, stabbing whatever few attempted to pull him back in.

Gemma held the door open for him as he slipped out with her, and they both slammed it shut behind them pushing against it wooden crates and one heavy bench seat.

"Let's get out of here!" John took Gemma by the wrist, running with her and never stopping until they had at last left the park and the carnival of hell.

They trotted across a street, dodging a slow cab driver and a small truck. John stopped on the corner of an old, four-story brick building at the street's end where he clutched his knees in hopes of catching his breath. Gemma leaned her back against the wall of brick, sliding down to sit on the sidewalk as the bricks brought discomfort to her back. Her expression was a combination of both shock and blankness.

She heard John's breathing slow down and she glanced at his face, seeing that his eyes were on her as well. His hair was drenched in blood as was his face. But the blood was not his own at least, or from what Gemma could tell. He was however, heavily soaked in large splashes of it. His clothes had clearly been pulled and tugged and torn by vicious hands, and he still held on tightly to the crucifix knife that had been his only weapon. His tie was also missing.

He stood slowly, still looking at her and slipping the knife back into his coat in an almost tossing way.

She sighed, tears forming in her eyes.

"It's all my fault." she uttered.

John looked at her in dismay, shaking his head at her words.

"It's not your fault." he told her.

"Yes it is. If I hadn't put in for you to take me to that carnival, none of this would've happened."

"You didn't know." he said, sitting himself beside her on the sidewalk.

The streets were silent with only a few cars passing by here and there.

"But I should know by now that you can't afford to get close to anyone. It not only puts others at stake, but you as well." she sobbed, turning away from him and hanging her head down.

John fit his two fingers beneath her chin, gently forcing her to look at him rather than turn away.

"Gemma, I need you to know that some bad crap has been happening. Someone's at work here, a Dark Arts Lord. And I think that freak back at the carnival was him. I'm going to have to ask you to be very brave, and to also know that no matter what happens," he hesitated, "... I love you."

_I love you._

That was the first time he had ever said that to her, or anyone for that matter.

"What are you saying?" she asked.

"I want you and your mother to leave town."

"But how am I supposed to explain all of this to mom? She'll freak out."

"She may freak out, but I know she loves you enough to listen."

"What about you?" Gemma asked.

"Don't worry about me. The important thing is keeping _you_ safe."

"You can tell me not to worry all you want, but I'm gonna do it anyway…I love you too." she fell onto his chest, and he slowly placed his arms around her, allowing her to cry into his blood-stained shirt.

"Hey come on," he spoke to her, "don't cry now. You're way too tough, remember?"

She couldn't help but chuckle at the teasing tone in his voice.

If for one minute he could protect her from the hell that ran freely through the mortal world, he would. But like him, she saw things, half-breeds; and there was nothing he could do about it. He would however stop at nothing to prevent her from falling in and getting mixed up in his demons, even if there really was no turning back for her. She saw things, knew things, but he still had to keep her safe despite it all. He couldn't drag her along anymore, allowing her life to be at stake. Not if he could help it.

They kept to themselves in alleys, backstreets and anywhere else they could avoid being seen with their blood-stained clothing.

At long last, with their feet as tired as they could ever be, they made it back in one piece to Gemma's house where Cheryl cast both furious and frantic eyes upon them. They were out longer than planned and now she was witness to their bloody state.

"Oh my god!" she gasped, pulling Gemma in and eyeing her brother coldly. "What the hell have you done, John?"

John was at a loss of words. How would he, the family outcast, explain this to Cheryl and expect her to take his word? As far as he knew, she suspected him to have brutally killed someone.

"Before you explain yourself, I just want you to know that you won't be seeing my daughter ever again!"

"MOM!" Gemma cut in. "I can explain this! He didn't commit a crime, he saved my life!"

"What?"

"Just let me explain…" and so she began.

* * *

Angela was tired. She felt as if she had been driving and running around all day trying to get to the bottom of a shoot out in a liquor store. The investigation remained unsuccessful as far as catching the suspects went, but everyone at the L.A.P.D. believed the thieves would turn up before long. The security cameras, the fingerprints and the gun was all the evidence they needed.

She carried on up the stairs to the eighth floor of the condominium, her pocket book draped over her shoulder and her hair hanging down upon her shoulders.

She was readying her hand to start the search in the contents of her bag for the apartment keys; that is until she was strangely greeted by a nervous Duck.

"Duck? What in the world are you doing out here in these halls?" Angela never allowed Duck to wonder freely outside the door of their dwelling. With him being Isabel's most beloved possession she had become dedicated to taking the very best care of him.

"I didn't leave you out." she said, glancing at the door of her housing. "But I wonder who did…"

Duck sat as he watched Angela wander quietly to her door.

"_Meow. Meow." _He fussed, as if telling her to come back.

Ignoring his wails, she carefully turned the knob, her hand had already grasped the small gun from her bag.

She eased her way in, looking around for some clue as to who had managed to unlock the door and let her cat out in the process. The clue however did not appear at first in sight but rather in smell. The apartment reeked of cigarettes.

She was angered and frightened all at once. The only person she knew to smoke was John, but surely he wouldn't be foolish enough to pick the habit back up. If it were him, Angela was prepared to give him a real piece of her mind. The possibility however did not bring her to lose the need to keep her gun at hand.

"You must be looking for me."

She turned quickly at the sound of the woman's voice, finding a brunette dressed in denim jeans and a navy-blue tee standing in the corner of her kitchen, leaned against the counter with a cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

Angela was surprised. Finding a half-breed in her apartment was the last thing she wanted to encounter, especially in the state of exhaustion she was in. With all that had happened, all that John had re-opened her eyes too, she was very well aware that half-demons meant nothing but trouble and Ellie's flaming eyes looked the part of a villian; but the detective kept her cool, pretending that she couldn't "see things".

"Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my apartment? How did you get in here in the first place?"

"The door was unlocked and you weren't home. So I decided to wait in here." she smirked.

"I don't like smoking in my house."

"Well, that's not a good way to welcome a guest."

"You came uninvited. Who are you?"

"My name's Ellie…just Ellie."

"Ellie? Am I supposed to know you?"

"You should. But I don't expect him to enjoy bringing me up to the new lover."

"What?" Angela was confused.

"John. I was his old girlfriend."

"I hardly believe that." Angela let out.

"And why would you say that, Angela? Is it because you know what I am? Don't be too surprised…John has been mixed up in all sorts of crowds." the smirk had left her face and she now appeared more annoyed than anything. She tossed the cigarette into the sink and wandered to where the detective stood.

"You can put the gun away." she mused. "I may be one of them, but I'm not as much of a threat as I may seem; though, if you push my buttons, I may reconsider. I'm known to change my mind an awful lot."

Angela slowly slipped the gun back into her purse, keeping it close to the surface in case the need to use it arrived.

"I'm assuming you're here to talk to me about John…"

"Maybe. But I thought you deserved to know. It's stupid to go into a relationship blindly, and John seldom opens up to anyone. And I know for a fact that he wouldn't dare mention his previous lady-friends."

"Look, I don't really care about John's past. And if you're attempting to turn me off from him, it won't work that easily."

"Of course not, Angela. He needs you. You're probably the only woman who's desperate enough to hang on to the bastard."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Angela demanded.

Ellie stepped forward until their eyes were leveled and their faces were close.

"That you're afraid to face the real facts about Constantine. You see, good girls like you don't know the half of him. You've only seen the good side of John. Why? Because his main goal is to keep you wanting more of him, to keeping you hanging in his shadows."

"John's not like that. He may be harsh at times, but I know he cares about me."

"I've known him a hell of a lot longer than you. I know what he's capable of, Angela. He's the biggest hoax there is. A real heartbreaker. He broke mine and plenty of other girls who will gladly tell you."

"I'm not interested." Angela turned her back on Ellie.

"Yes you are." Ellie hissed. "You'd be stupid not to be."

"Get out."

"Fine. Don't want to hear it, I'll go. I wouldn't want you to scowl at Mr. Perfect. After all, he's done a fine job at sweeping you off your feet, and you forbid yourself to let a fellow female offer to you a little insight. I only wanted to help, but you don't want to hear it.."

Ellie started for the door and she would've walked out right there.

"Wait."

Angela's voice paused her from going any further. Too bad she couldn't see that malicious grin on Ellie's face.

"It's really late but…maybe I…" she really didn't want to do it, to give into the temptation that Ellie had left on her. "Maybe I…maybe you're right. I think I do deserve to hear it, if it's true."

"There's one thing about me, Ms. Dodson, I can fool a man pretty damn good, but I don't lie to women."

Angela suspected that Ellie knew more than enough about her. She knew her name for one thing, her address and she knew plenty about her relationship with John Constantine.

"Would you like to sit down?" she offered the half-breed.

"That'll be nice."

Angela led her to the den, and the two women took a seat across from the other on the new sofa set that Angela had purchased. Ellie seemed to take note of her surroundings.

"You have pretty good taste." she said.

"Thanks. It's a little messier than I like."

"You should see my place. It looks like a twister came through."

Angela partially smirked at her, wanting to be nice enough but not overly trusting.

"You probably know that he spends a lot of time in bars. In fact, I recently bumped into him at one. I actually joined him for a drink and we set our differences aside in the process…or so I like to think."

"A bar?"

"That was one night that John remained sober. However, there are those recent nights I've caught him in Midnite's club with his arm thrown over a couple of whores. I'm also assuming he took them home afterwards or either ended up at their place like he use to do with me."

"What?"

"Yes. Shameful, I know. But John's always fell for the wild type. That's one thing that surprises me about you. There must be something about you that really captivates him other than your pretty face." she scowled slightly at the mention of Angela's appearance. "That asshole's screwed so many different women. It's a wonder if he doesn't have…herpes or some other shit. Somehow he's managed not to get any of us pregnant. Course' I took extra precautions when _I_ was seeing him."

"I wish you wouldn't…"

Ellie suddenly leaned forward, taking Angela's hand into hers and cutting her off.

"Angela, I'm only trying to help you. Whether or not you want to be with John is up to you, I just don't want you to expect too much out of him. He's not a loving person. When it comes to women, he has one thing on his mind…he's a pig."

_He's a pig._

That last phrase had brought a flashback to Angela's mind. She recalled that night when John gave in to help her in solving Isabel's death. He filled the tub and she was going to be submerged.

"_So, do I have to take the rest of my clothes off, or can I leave them on?…John?"_

"_I'm thinking."_

"…_John?" she smiled._

"_On is fine."_

"I was hurt Angela, and you're going to be hurt too. He left me for you, just think about it. Some slut will come along eventually and he'll betray you…just like he betrayed me."

Angela jerked her hand away from Ellie, giving her a threatening look.

"You don't want to help me. You're not on my side. You're just trying to stab John behind his back like all the other half-breeds do. I know your game, and if you don't leave I'll make you regret coming here."

"Angela, please…that's not what it is."

"I don't want to be fed anymore of your sick lies."

"Lies?"

"GET OUT!"

Silence filled the room and Ellie stood from her seat on the couch.

"Alright Ms. Dodson, I'll go. And I wish you all the best of happiness with your new-found romance. Besides, what girl in her right mind _would_ turn down such a hunk of a hero? John Constantine does indeed have the reputation of not only a great exorcist, but one hell of a womanizer too." she stepped past the den and headed for the door.

"Oh and one more thing, he goes for thongs."

She left the apartment and Angela sitting silently on the couch. In an instant, Angela was resting her forehead against her palm. If Ellie achieved one thing this night, it was apparent she had left the detective very upset.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

**Author's Notes:**If you guys catch any run-ons, please point them out. Sometimes the stories are uploaded with run-on sentences even after I've looked over them, thanks.

A shout of thanks goes to KrisEleven (who keeps me on my toes, lol) and krluva who knows John like the back of her hand. Thanks for the helpful tips.


	16. Chapter XVI: Humor Me

**CHAPTER XVI: Humor Me**

7:38 am. The alarm clock was buzzing madly, it had been for over thirty minutes now and he had been far too lazy in bed to acknowledge it. But if the alarm clock couldn't rouse him, the ringing of the telephone surely would; especially with it's noise combined with that of the clock's.

"Fuck." he heard himself utter.

It wasn't until late that he had arrived back at his apartment. He had spent some long hours at Cheryl's where he and Gemma explained a few things to her as well as convince her to leave town for a while.

Cheryl didn't give in easily. She had a job, bills, but John assured her it would be well worth it and she was willing to do anything to protect her child. Aunt Dolly's place in San Diego was the getaway of choice.

When he arrived home at about four in the morning, he was so tired until he had forgotten to reset the alarm clock, though now it didn't matter. The phone was ringing and he was compelled to answer. He was after all John Constantine; an exorcist.

"What?" his tone was sharp.

_"It's Father Garret."_

"Shit." John sneered, knowing what was about to be asked of him, or having a fair idea anyway. Sadly, he had assumed right. "What the hell is it this time?"

_"John, no one else can do it. A teenage boy has become possessed. It all began last night. I was called out with Father Abercrombie, and we did manage to get the boy tied down. I called you several times but you never answered."_

"I was out." John said, rubbing his eyes.

_"Well we desperately need you, John. Please, I don't know how much longer…"_

"Before you start whining, just give me the damn address, would ya?"

After scribbling down the given address and hanging up, John quickly slipped into his clothes and grabbed all the things that he would need as he always did. The crucifix, the bible, the holy water and the small religious symbols of metal.

He headed out of the dwelling and towards Roach's apartment where he pounded against the wood door several times.

At long last, Roach answered him; but he didn't look too happy.

"John, you son of a …"

"Before you cuss me out for waking you at seven in the morning, I just want you to know that it's urgent, in case you didn't suspect that, and that I too would rather be in bed right now catching up on some much needed rest. But unfortunately, I need your ass to drive me somewhere so I can save another kid. So, have we come to an understanding?"

Roach shook his head, a bitter grin creeping on to him.

"I really hate you right now. Let me grab my bloody coat."

It didn't take long for them to thrust out the doors of the quiet bowling alley and leap into the front seats of the red mustang squeezed between to other vehicles against the sidewalk.

"So tell me John," he began as they drove down the early morning streets. "when ya gonna get yourself a damn drivers license and a car?"

"When I take the notion. And get the extra credit."

"What about a new apprentice, eh? Don't you think it would be easier on ya?"

"Don't you mean easier on _you_?" John glanced at him.

"At least I'd get some damn sleep." Roach muttered. "By the way John, where the hell were you last night?"

"It's a long story. I'll tell you about it later."

"Something bad happen?"

"Yeah."

Roach returned his eyes to the road ahead. He could see that John was more weary than usual.

They arrived in a large subdivision, a very upscale one at that. The two men stepped out of the mustang and headed for the front door of the two-story brick home.

Roach rung the doorbell and a nervous man answered.

"You must be the…"

"Yeah." John finished.

"Come inside."

They stepped past him, seeing that Father Garret, along with another Father, were standing over a boy who was strapped to a wooden chair. Both men were praying quietly over the boy who's expression was pure poison. His snarls were not that of a sixteen year old, but rather that of a beast.

Everyone was in the den, sitting, watching and hoping as the two Catholics stood over the harnessed victim. On the sofa sat a woman, his mother apparently, who huddled close to another teenage boy, perhaps the older brother. The father remained against the back wall, closing his eyes and whispering a pleed to God.

"John, don't open the curtains!" Garret's tone was alerting but not loud.

Ignoring him, John pulled the curtains of the den open, allowing the sunlight to peer through. The boy winced and growled as the light hit his face.

For a while they all watched as John held the metal symbols to the light of the sun, and when he walked to where the boy was strapped, his stare told the two Catholics to move aside.

"I'll take it from here." he said.

"Oh, of course." Garret uttered, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief as he stepped aside.

"This ought to be good." Roach smirked, taking a seat beside the frightened mother. He could feel her giving him a resentful look.

"Sorry asshole," John whispered into the boy's ear. "Today's not your day."

He placed the symbols against the boy's forehead and he wailed terribly, bringing to the room a great deal of tenseness. His mother could barely stand to watch.

As John held he symbols against his burning skin, he uttered in a foreign tongue words to cast the evil out of the boy.

All became silent when the victim went limp; but John was hesitant. This happened far too often; them going limp during the exorcism.

"Oh my god! He's not moving!" the mother panicked.

"Sit down!" John demanded. "Just wait." he added in a calmer tone.

Sure enough the boy's head thrust upwards, and his appearance was all the more corrupted. His eyes were white, just white and he looked yellow.

"You'll die." he spoke demonically. "You're not strong enough. They'll put an end to you." he threatened as small streams of dark red blood dripped from his mouth.

"We'll see." By this time, John had forced the crucifix to the boy's head. He began to quote further words in Latin.

The boy's body vibrated and then, almost as quick as it had begun, it declined. No longer did he wail or throw words of hatred onto the man before him. Instead, he remained still and his skin regained a normal flesh-color. His eyes opened and he gasped for fresher air. The demon had made breathing so impaired and it was a relief to have the burden removed. John had arrived in time. Eventually, the demonic presence would have killed the victim from within.

"Mom, dad...Jeremy?"

"Oh thank God!" his mother rushed to his side and his brother and father were quick to join in the embrace.

"I need a question answered." John said.

"What?" asked the boy's father.

"How'd he get like this? Any idea?"

The boy's parents had no answer to give him, but his older brother did.

"He went with some friends to a graveyard last night to make some stupid parody video about ghosts. When he came home, it was like Danny was gone. Like he was this zombie that wanted to strangle everyone." the boy explained.

"What graveyard was it?" asked John.

"Uh…" the boy glanced at his brother in hopes of a answer.

"It was Rosedale." Danny said weakly. "Rosedale cemetery. The last thing I remember is standing near a mausoleum shooting some footage."

"Figures." John replied. "Come on, Roach."

During the drive home, Roach requested John to tell him of all that had happened. John took his time answering at first. He wanting to choose his words carefully. He was still very shaken from all that had happened, all that might have happened as far as Gemma was concerned.

"So you saw him, the Dark Arts Lord?"

"That's what I'm thinking. It had to be the bastard."

"So why is it you think, that he's setting all the demons lose, having them to possess these dead bodies and live victims other than the fact he obviously wants to rid himself of you?"

"I'm thinking he calls himself growing an army, who knows? I need to see Midnite...You know what the worst part about vampires is?"

"What?"

"The simple fact that I can't tell them apart from half-breeds."

"What about Midnite; what if he can't help you, John? You know he has to maintain the balance."

"Then my last hope would be another guy who may have answers."

"Who?"

"Ambroas, an old friend of mine."

"Funny name."

"He use to be my doctor when I was a teenager. Worked at Ravenscar."

"Did he retire?"

"Sort of. He didn't agree with the way the other doctors treated patients like me. So he left."

"What happened to him?"

John unwrapped some gum and tossed it into his mouth.

"Left the city. He contacted my parents a year later, trying to convince them to bring me to his new practice. But as always, the assholes refused the offer. They thought it was too much of an inconvenience."

"Did you like the bloke?"

"He was one of the few people who really understood me. He really cared about people who were 'gifted' as he put it. Let's just say that he wasn't the type to put a troubled teenager into a torture devise and expect him to be cured."

Once they returned home, the two settled back into the comfort of their beds. John was far too tired to stay awakde and Roach was just overall lazy; but when night came, John was hoping that he'd get in to see the Witchdoctor. Though fate had other plans.

As he sat at the comfort of his table, finishing off the last bit of meatloaf on his plate, a sudden pound came to the door. It was quick, loud and brief.

Pushing the chair out from under him, he wandered over to see who this visitor could be.

"Kit?" he was surprised to see her here.

Katherine was pale, her eyes barely holding open in their blood shot state. Her hair was a mess, thrown up into a bun with lose strands dangling about her cheeks. But more than anything, her expression sent a chill through him. She looked terrified, maybe a little insane in the manner that he almost wondered if she knew where she was, if she knew she was standing at his door like this. He wondered what had happened...had she been harmed in some way?

"Had to-" her speech was broken. "had to g-ge-t away…"

She fainted and he caught her into his arms. Behind her was a man hooked up to an oxygen machine in a wheelchair. Beside the wheelchair was a frantic dog who whimpered quietly to himself. The dog looked nearly as battered as Katherine, but her father seemed to be untouched at least.

He carried her inside and laid her out on the bed, then he returned to gather the man and the dog.

"What the hell's happened to you, Kit?" he pondered as he rubbed the back of his head, glancing over at the sleeping stranger in the wheelchair.

There was something about that man that seemed familiar to John, though he discarded the possibility of it being her father.

"Hey mister, hey?" John gently nudged the man, but the useless attempt was put to an end when he got no reaction. The dog seemed to be the only one who retained consciousness.

He was a friendly little thing, often following John around the apartment. But eventually he grew tired of the lack of attention and wandered to where Katherine laid on the bed.

"Hey, hey! No mutts on the mattress!" John shooed him down to the floor, though once he returned to the table the dog returned to the comfort of the bed. John scowled at him, but was too overwhelmed by everything to even try. So many things were starting to happen now, one right after the other. He wondered what would happen next. Whatever it was, it couldn't be anything good.

Then her voice broke him from those frightening images of someone he cares about getting hurt.

"John…"

He spun around, looking at her and immediately walking to where she sat on the bed's edge.

"Kit, what the hell is wrong?"

"I needed to escape." she went on. "Forgive me, John. Forgive me for coming here with s-so many problems."

"It's alright. You and me both have em'." he merely said.

He clutched her arm, helping her to her feet.

"Come sit at the table, I'll fix you some coffee."

"No," she replied. "pour me som-something hard. I need it."

Her words were still partially broken, and at times it seemed she didn't quite know what she was saying or how she was saying it. Her state made him tense and he worried if maybe, due to her involvement with him, she might have been witness to something at least as horrific as what he and Gemma had. He wondered just how many other people he would end up putting at risk.

"So," he began as he sat a pipe-shaped glass of vodka down before her. "I'm guessing you came here to tell me what's on your mind?"

She glanced down at the glass, reaching to pick it up and hold it to her lips.

"Careful." he told her. "That stuff's pretty damn strong."

She glanced at him and shrugged as she gulped a large amount of the substance, tilting her head back slightly as she swallowed. The bitter taste made her wince slightly, but she needed it.

"Well," he mused, studying her. "humor me."

"John," there was a sudden gleam of light in her eye that somehow told him she was clearing her mind and at the same time, reaching out to him for something more than a pair of listening ears. "Something very, very strange happened to me. Something that shouldn't be happening at all." her eyes danced around the surface of the table momentarily. "And I don't know if I'm losing my mind, or if it's really there…" she swallowed nervously. "if it's got something to do with my involvement with you. And don't think I'm blaming you for my problems, but I do know John; I know that when people get around you, things are likely to happen. I know we haven't seen each other in years, we only partially grew up together, but I have my memories and I haven't been able to sleep since what happened in Rosedale."

"What are you getting at here?" he asked, leaning against the back of his chair.

"That my past is starting to haunt me. I've had two dreams, dreams I haven't had in years. And on top of it all, someone…" she paused, as if apprehensive to go any further.

"Go on…" he pressed.

"Someone who use to play a large role in my life…" she paused again. John was growing anxious.

"Who?"

"An old lover of mine." she gasped a little. "He's literally coming back to haunt me, John. He wants to torment me and I can't go back in that house. I literally ran with my dog for miles, pushing dad in the wheelchair."

"Dad? You mean…" John glanced at him. "He's your dad?" he pointed with his extended thumb.

"Well yeah. Who the hell did you think he was?"

"I don't remember you mentioning anything about him being in a wheelchair like that."

"It happened in a car accident. His whole body is paralyzed."

"Oh, well...I'm sorry."

"Me too." she uttered.

"So what's this about the old lover? Can't you have the cops to get rid of him?"

She burst into a small chuckle, placing her hand against her head and shaking her head at him. John furrowed a brow.

"I wish it were that simple but…I don't think cops can do much with a guy who's already dead."

"Dead?" he almost found it hard to believe.

"You work in paranormal, don't you? You do believe me, because I only partially believe it myself."

"Yeah, I don't doubt ghosts but…why, I mean, how is it possible? Are you awake when you see him?"

"I'm not dreaming him. He's there. He's in the mirror, he's in the window looking at me, mocking me. I've broke every mirror in the house, but he's still there. I can hear him laughing madly and saying these frightening things about how he's gonna make me sorry and he's gonna make sure I'm his for eternity. Oh God, I'm at a loss here."

"Maybe I can help you out." he offered.

She stood slowly from the table, her mind racing, her hands clutched together over her stomach.

"That's nice to know. But I don't know if you'll really be able to, John."

"Why is he dead Kit?"

"I'd rather not…"

"You'll have to tell me if you want us to get anywhere with this."

"He was shot dead." she replied quickly.

"By who?"

She hesitated.

"The-the cops never caught the guy. They never really…found out for sure who shot him. He was involved in the occult."

"The occult? How the hell did you meet the guy?"

"When I was twenty two, I took this job at a casino. I was a hostess. It wasn't like a lot of the big casinos you see in Las Vegas, but rather shady actually. Kind of like that club where I met you except, maybe a little brighter and louder. Trent McDowell, my boyfriend, he was a part owner of the place with his father. He took up an interest in me and somehow managed to trick me into falling under his spell. He was always a good actor." she returned to her seat at the table. "As we got to knowing each other better, we became more serious, or I did. He on the other hand started changing."

"In what way?"

"He started getting involved in shady crowds, crowds I didn't quite understand until it was too late. I didn't find out about his involvement with the occult until that one unforgettable day. I went to his apartment after about a week of not hearing from him. I was worried, so I went in only to find that he was out; or so I thought. Being as concerned as I was I began looking through his things. In his bedroom was where all the real shock was. He had pentagrams drawn out everywhere, strange books written in languages I didn't understand, candles, and symbols…then I found some photographs that were key evidence to what was really going on."

"What sort of photographs?"

"They were…horrible. It was pictures taken of him and some others, all dressed in black. To give you a fair ideal, it was sacrificial stuff, little animals, two adults who looked like they were homeless." she ran her fingers through her hair. "I can't get the images out of my head."

"So what happened? Did you report it?"

"I was, but he caught me right there. He made me afraid of him, John. He told me that if I didn't do what he said, he'd see to it that my dad suffereda horrific death. After he gaveme the details of what he'd do to my dad, I was just too scared to deny him. So I obeyed and kept quiet. I was so damn weak and stupid."

"Finish telling me, Kit. What happened? How'd you escape?"

"He was shot, John. Shot dead. Whoever did it, saved me." she looked away.

"There's something you're not telling me."

"What?" she looked at him, her hands shaking in her lap.

"I can tell by the way your voice speeds up whenever you mention him being shot."

"What? John, I just don't like to talk about it."

"Kit, I can tell. Please, don't leave out important details."

"What are you saying, John? Do you want me to say I did it? That I killed the bastard?"

"No but, if I happen to meet this guy's spirit, I know he's going to say things, tell me stuff."

"Who are going to believe, John? A dead criminal or me?"

"I just need the truth, Kit."

"I TOLD YOU THE DAMN TRUTH!" she yelled, slamming her fists on the table.

"Lower your voice."

"I regret coming here."

"I'm not accusing you of anything. Even if you did do it, you had a damn good reason."

"John, what support do you have to even suspect I shot anyone?"

"Because you wanted to get away form him, wanted to escape. And I know you'd go to whatever extreme you had to if you were corned for too long. And I can read people."

"You don't know me like you think you do."

"I know enough." he told her.

"John I…I just can't…"

He stood from his chair, making way to her side and staring her in the eye.

"You can tell me."

Silence blanketed the room for minutes that seemed like hours. He never lifted his stare from her for one second, and she felt as though she were being interrogated. Her stomach grew woozy and her heart skipped several beats. She wanted to leap from the table, run away, but where would she go? She hated the staring, she just couldn't bear it. At last, she surrendered to him.

"I shot him...I'm the one who did it. I shot him twelve times in the chest. I hated him, wanted to free myself and my father. I finally got enough. He wanted to sacrifice me to punish me for threatening to go to the cops. I just couldn't do it, I couldn't let him kill me…I had to shoot him John. I had to kill him."

The sudden knocks against the door of John's apartment made Katherine tremble.

"Who's there?" she asked him.

"Stay here." he told her as he wandered towards the door.

"John I…" Angela's eyes were cast upon the blonde woman sitting at the table with the liquor glass in her hands, though Katherine quickly turned away before Angela could glimpse her face. "Who's that?"

"Angela, this is…"

"Never mind. I didn't mean to interrupt anything…I should go."

"What?" John lifted a brow but she turned to leave. "Angela, hold up."

He chased after her, closing the door behind him and following her halfway down the stairs that led into the bowling alley.

"Wait!" he snatched her arm, making her turn and look him in the eye. He could see that she'd been crying. "Angela, what's wrong?"

"I guess that old half-breed girlfriend of yours was right after all."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh John, I know about Ellie and all the other women too. She came to my apartment last night."

"What? What did she do?"

"She didn't do anything but give me some insight as to who you really are. And I didn't want to believe it but…"

"But what? You must be looking for an excuse to believe her. That woman in there is just an old friend of mine. I told you about her; Kit Ryan. Her dad's in there too, hooked up in a wheelchair and she's just looking for a little help. I can't believe you'd let something like Ellie turn you against me."

"Oh really? Well how the hell do you want to explain your relationships with women like Ellie?"

"That was in the past. I'm a different man now."

Katherine had eased out into the hallway, curious as to what was going on. She could hear the echoes of their hushed voices coming from the stairs.

"Are you John? Are you really?"

"You mean you think that woman in there is…."

"It's not her, John. It's just the simple fact that I think you're not ready."

"Ready? Ready for what?"

"Commitment!"

"Commitment, huh?" he shook his head at her. "So this is what you came here to discuss with me?"

"Maybe." she said.

"Angela, what more do I need to do to prove to you that you're the only woman I…."

"Save it for the next tramp. I'm not one of them, John."

"Angela!" he grabbed her arm again, holding her from walking away.

"Let go of my arm!"

"Not until you hear me out. You're not playing fair. You're assuming too much here."

"John, I'm afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"That you don't know how to tell a woman you love her and actually mean it. There's more to a relationship than just…sex. There has to be a special bond there."

"I thought we had a bond."

"A bond? That shows just how little you think of it. You and I hardly get along at all. The only time you come around is when you need my help or I need yours. I need more from you, John. I need someone who can understand me, someone who won't judge me, someone who gives me support and unconditional love. I'm not like these other women you've been with,"

"I know that. That's why I…"

"Let me finish. I just don't see how someone like you can adjust to meeting my standards. And it's not because I find you unworthy. You're worth a lot to me, John. But can you really deal with me? Can you really adjust, change…commit?"

Silence filled the air as she waited anxiously for him to reply. But he didn't. He couldn't.

"That's what I was afraid of." she said.

She took her arm away, leaving him to stand in the midst of his own stupidity, his own confusion of how to properly react to a woman who's just poured her feelings out to him.

Then another voice came from behind, sneering at him almost just as bad.

"How could you let her walk away like that?" Katherine's voice echoed slightly at the top of the stairs.

John turned around, taking in Katherine's words and looking at her coldly. She was right though. How could he let her walk away?

"That's my business." he managed to throw at her as he brushed past the woman only to close himself back into the walls of his apartment. She followed him.

"She's right." at last John found a need for words as Katherine watched him looking out of the windows that lined the wall. "I can't commit…to anyone."

"So I guess you're just going to accept defeat." Katherine uttered.

"I thought that she was the one closing me out. But that's not the case at all, is it?" he propped one hand against the wall, leaning slightly forward as his head tilted towards the floor. "This is all I'll ever be."

"Why don't you get a hold of yourself? Go tell her you love her. You obviously do."

"Just leave me the hell alone."

"Quit being an asshole and I will."

"It's no concern of yours." he snapped.

"Yeah right. You don't know much about women. There's more to us than a pretty face, and whatever the hell else men like you perceive as desirable. We need to be told sometimes how much we mean, how important we are."

"She hasn't told me anything about how much I mean to her."

"Why does she have to make the first move? You're scared John; scared to commit."

"If I hear that damn word one more time…"

"Yeah, I know. I can see it's not a part of your beliefs. Men are pathetic."

He gathered himself and paced to the door.

"I'm going to go see someone about a few things. Just wait here and don't answer the door to anyone, got that?" he gave her a tight, scowling look, and she returned one to him.

"Wait." she paused him.

"What now? You want to give me one more tip on dating?"

"No stupid. I was going to tell you something."

"Tell me then."

"You know that...prayer, the one I chanted in the graveyard?"

"The prayer to Saint Michael. Yeah, I know."

"It stayed with me for years. It's the last thing I remember about my mother. I remember her whispering it over me one night. She thought I was asleep but I wasn't. It's the last time I heard her voice."

John didn't comment at first, he only looked at her.

"I don't know why she left us." Katherine uttered to herself.

"Maybe she cared more about you than you thought. Maybe she prayed that over you to keep you safe." She watched as he stormed out, slamming the door behind him. He wasn't quite finished with Katherine. He still had many things he wanted to question her about and possibly propose to her.

Being alone in his dwelling brought her to rush to the windows to close the blinds, shutting out the world and any possibilty of prying eyes.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

**Author's Notes:**Yikes! More drama…John's gonna have to learn to commit if he wants to keep Angela in his life. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. The next one will have some John/Angela romance plus a very perilous fight scene. If something seems a little out of place, just tell me. I fixed some things in the previous chapter that KrisEleven pointed out, and I also added the needed hesitation with John that krluva suggested. Thanks a bunch guys!


	17. Chapter XVII: Midnite, Streetfights &

**A/N: krluva, I sure hope you find a certain someone to be vulnerable enough here (giggles). And devastee, I hope you enjoy the John/Angela drama. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. The future updates may come slower as the Holidays are taking up much of my time, and I have to make preperations for College (that I'll be starting after the Holidays) so bear with me.**

* * *

**CHAPTER XVII: Midnite, Street Fights & Angela**

Here he was, walking alone in the dark of night, crossing the empty street that lined the right side of the_ Bowl Bowl Bowl_ bowling alley and onto another sidewalk where he passed the unlit pharmacy.

He walked alongside other storefronts of towering old buildings, restaurants, and other shit that made up the dark backstreets of a downtown he called home. Everything was quiet, only a one or two cars passing by. No sight of a taxi just yet. He had attempted asking Roach on the way out, but he wasn't home. Even his mustang was gone. John cursed him pointlessly under his breath and then he cursed himself. Why didn't he get himself a car? Renew his drivers license? Why couldn't he open up to Angela the way he was supposed to?

Angela…

There she was playing on his mind again. There she was making him ache for her. He felt like an ass. Then he started blaming _her_ for making him feel like such an ass.

Yes, blame her. It was so much easier to put the blame on Angela than it was him. Why couldn't _she_ be the one to understand _him_? He had enough stress to carry around now, he certainly didn't need to be bombarded with a whimpering, needy woman. Katherine was bad enough but at least she wasn't making him fall in love with her in dire times.

Bitches. Women were bitches. Ellie was a bitch, his sister was usually a bitch. His mother and Aunt Dolly were bitches. If only he could see what a bitch _he_ was being right now.

The pavement of the sidewalks beneath his clacking leather shoes were darkened with dampness. It must have rained while he was asleep earlier that day. The sky looked cloudy enough.

The lighted streetlamp up ahead cast small droplets of rain onto an old tin trash can propped against the stone wall of a music store making a thumping sound against the metal.

Walking along, he slipped his hands into his coat pocket almost reaching for the nicoderm, but he changed his mind. He didn't want any gum to chew on right now. He wished he had his trusty cigarettes instead; those Chinese cigarettes. He hated and loved them all together. It had been an addiction, but it felt damn good considering it had been smoking up hislungs. Now all he had was whiskey, vodka and other harsh drinks to drivehimself mad with. He'd even began to drink more now that his cigarettes were missing from the boundaries of his coat.

Cigarettes…

They were like women. Going in and out of him, tasting good and relieving him while at the same time ripping out his very soul, leaving him dry and empty and gasping for air, making sure they left him with his lungs locked tight, keeping anything from coming in andkeeping it from escaping.

His eyes glanced upward, catching the sight of a large billboard sign advertising the perfect ring for the perfect woman from some upscale jewelry department. The man on the poster was slipping a heavy rock onto the woman's finger and kissing her passionately. A wedding ring.

"_What a waste." _he uttered. _"Marriage…what's the point of being tied down with someone you won't stay with?" _He was so bitter in his thoughts.

A trolley bus flew by almost out of nowhere, shaking him from his bitter opinions with it's loud roar while throwing water on him from the puddle-filled streets.

"Fucking son of a bitch bus driver!" he cursed madly as he extended his arms, seeing how soaked he was.

He shook his pants legs and then he squeezed the bottom rims of his trench coat.

"Better get a move on." a withered, rusty voice shattered the brief silence the bus had left him with, followed by the annoying squeaks of buggy wheels.

John glanced over his shoulder, seeing an old man move along pushing with him a cart full of trash bags, a few bicycle parts, a large torn teddy bear missing an ear and a leg where cotton spilt from the tears. There was other junk in there, junk that looked to be nothing more than crap dug from the trash cans of Los Angeles.

The old man was bearded, maybe sixty or seventy, scrawny, short. He was clad in old heavy clothes and he reeked of a wet dog.

"Can't be too late for your appointment." he whispered, not really speaking to John. Maybe he was talking to himself, or so John might have thought if it weren't for him seeing the dark feathered wings gently spreading out over his back.

He glanced over his shoulder at John, giving him a wearied look. There he paused, but he remained in his position with his hands planted on the bar of the rusted buggy.

"This city has secrets that even we don't know about. There's another city, right here in the heart of L.A. They've all got their own little world." the old man slowly turned his stare back to the sidewalk ahead of him and began to move along.

"Hey, hey wait just a second. What the hell are you talking about?"

But the old man kept moving leaving John frustrated by his resistance to respond.

"Hey you, half-breed…I'm asking you a…"

An interruption occurred; a loud crash of trash cans coming from behind. It brought John to spin around, looking to see what had just happened. It was only an alley cat running across the street.

He quickly turned back, planning to go after the old man; but he had vanished…literally vanished.

"What the hell?"

There were no corners to turn and disappear in that quickly. He would have to run of course and even then John would've still had time to catch sight of him. But half-breeds worked in mysterious ways.

* * *

"Cow on a fucking cloud." he told the bouncer before the heavy bloke even had a chance to finish pulling up the card.

He reached down, unhooking the velvet rope, letting John in.

John didn't have to worry about limited hours on Midnite's. The place was open throughout the day, giving the half-breeds a place to fit in at almost any hour when they needed to escape the plane. A place where they could hide and practice their ravenous ways in a private world where no one would tell on them. But when John entered the club, all eyes would fall on him, and they always stared longer whenever he was in a haste. If he were here for a mere drink, they wouldn't stare him down half as bad. It seemed that they always knew when something wasn't right with him…when something wasn't entirely _balanced_.

John stood at the door, reaching out to open it; but it thrust open on it's own causing him to pull his hand away as the large man stepped out.

It was that same mysterious half-breed, that man who's stare said pure evil. Who was this guy? John often wondered. Perhaps one of the many who did business with the Witchdoctor. One side of his face was almost mutated, deformed; and even as tall as John Constantine stood, this man still towered over him. This was the second time he managed to give John that cold, almost challenging stare, though Constantine never gave him the time of day…at least not yet. But John's own stare said enough for itself. If the oaf wanted to push his buttons, he'd gladly smack him down to the floor…maybe even deport him back to hell where he really belonged.

After the brief stare down, he stepped in. He looked over his shoulder just for a moment to hear the door shut, then turned to study the room.

The familiar smell of cigar smoke filled the air. Everything seemed the norm, the usual. The walls were their usual cushioned design, the desk was messy, but where the hell was Midnite? Had John missed him yet again? It seemed likely. Maybe he should've made an appointment; but did he really have that time or the chance to plan ahead?

He glanced over towards the corner of the room at a booth seat, finding two half-breeds sitting there; a man and a woman. Both had dark skin with the expecting flaming eyes. Their distinctive features were fair and they looked to be from some tropical place. Maybe the Caribbean?

They were looking at John and he at them. He took their current attention as an opportunity to ask,

"You seen Midnite?"

They didn't speak. They didn't even nod. They just kept staring dead-cold into him. It pissed him off.

"Don't speak English?" he asked, sarcastically. "Maybe you just don't have a mind to. Half-breeds haven't got a heart, why the hell should they bother having a mind?"

"I'm not happy to see you, John." a familiar voice broke into the room.

He spun around, finding Midnite settling down at his desk, placing the abandoned cigar back into his mouth.

"They're doing trade with me. Came all the way from Jamaica." Midnite's eyes were searching through an open briefcase and his hands were carefully digging out strange artifacts and lining them on the clearing along the far end of the table. "I hope you've not come to my house to bother me with personal problems."

John chuckled at him mockingly as he slipped into the chair before the Witchdoctor.

"_Personal problems_…" John sneered.

"I was hoping that when you came barging in on me again, you would have something; like those coins I'm still waiting for."

"Fuck the coins Midnite. There's bigger things going on around here."

"Do not start, John. I _will_ remain neutral"

"Would you remain neutral if you knew a Dark Arts Lord lured my niece and I into a carnival and tried to kill us with his undead army? Would you still be neutral if you knew that I had to flush out another soldier demon today who nearly killed another kid?"

Midnite shifted his eyes up at John and then slowly released them back onto the contents of the open briefcase.

"Tell me something Midnite, what the hell do you know about vampires working in the occult?"

"I have told you what I know, John."

"What about this Dark Arts Lord, Midnite? You know any Dark Arts _Lord_? Would you happen to have any useful information to pass along to a man who's apparently being hunted down by one? Oh yeah…he wants to get rid of me. He even wanted to kill Gemma, my thirteen year old niece, and you know why." The volume of John's voice was kept a low level.

Midnite glanced towards the two half-breeds sitting at the booth. He said something to them in a tongue unfamiliar to John's ears and they both stepped out of the office. It was after the two strangers had disappeared that Midnite quickly shoved the artifacts back into the briefcase, locked it shut and slid it under his desk. He returned his arms to the table, leaning forward and clutching his fists together, giving to John his full attention.

"You fear for your life, do you not?" he asked.

"Not just _my_ life, but the lives of others…Gemma being one of them. And now I'm beginning to worry that other people I know may be at stake here."

"I know many Dark Arts practitioners, John, you and I are two of them. But there is only one who holds the title of being the 'Lord' of Dark Arts. He leads the occult. All occultists, they idol and worship him like a celebrity. He is known only by certain groups. He is neither living nor dead but existing in our plane. He lives through each final breath of living things. It is the death of the living that he feeds on. He neither sleeps nor eats. He is a high ranking vampire, one who does not need the fuel of blood, only the death that is given by his own hands."

"So when someone dies, it's like his meal of the day, right?"

"Something like that. But people like you are standing in his way, John. He would've had yet another life to feed on today and a body to add to his 'army', but you get in the way far more than he likes."

"That's bull. I've been doing this for,"

Midnite cut in.

"He is not from your hometown. He's traveled from lands far and wide, searching, hunting, prowling. Doing whatever it is he's set out to do, and only he knows what that is. This is his destination; to rid the world of the one man who stands between heaven and hell keeping those scavengers from breaking in as you might put it. He wants you, John. And if you do not find him, he will find you. He has eyes that watch."

"Yeah, I kind of got that after he lured me into that freak show. But if he's been killing, shouldn't there be a lot more murder stories floating around?"

"He can feed from any living thing or anyone. Animals, homeless people, runaway teenagers, or whoever he sees as an inconvenience."

"Midnite, I bumped into a half-breed on the street tonight on the way here. He said something to me that I didn't quite understand and I was thinking that you could decipher what he meant."

"What was it he said?"

"He told me the city has secrets we don't know of. That there's another city right here in the heart of L.A. That they've got their own little world."

Midnite loosened up against the back of his chair.

"All I can make of it is that he was referring to the practices of the occult. Maybe both the human practices, the half-breed and maybe even the vampire."

"But do vampire occultists practice with humans? I'm assuming it possible for them to practice with half-breed demons, but what about humans? They both kill humans, use them, torture them…"

"You hold a fine point. Of all the wicked human occultist, I do not think they would work along with vampires and half-breeds…especially not vampires. Vampires have only one use for human beings and one use only...to feed."

"That's what I thought." John said.

"Well John, if that is all the questions you bring me, then I have no further help to offer you."

"So you can't tell me where they could be hiding out other than Rosedale?"

"No. I have no clue whatsoever. Now go. I have business to finish."

"Thanks for the help."

"Oh and John,"

"What?"

"Be cautious on the streets. I sense a storm coming."

"Yeah, weather's been pretty damn shitty." John slipped out of the chair and eventually out of Midnite's club. He was on the street again and walking home, hoping he'd catch a cab.

The streets were heavily dark now and there were no cars. It was quiet and empty almost to an alarming extent, but then it _was_ way past midnight.

John had come to the conclusion that he'd likely have to walk home at this point. He hoped that Katherine had remained put and safe, and he was hoping he'd make it home before the light drizzle turned into a heavy shower.

* * *

Angela had been on duty since eleven pm, and now it was two in the morning. Another death had been reported related to yet another possession. A mother of two had been brutally killed by an invisible force.

The death had occurred at one of the old apartment buildings not a far cry from where Midnite's club was and she was heading home now, driving down that dark lonely street that was mainly known for being lit and active.

She passed by the numerous shops, stores, outlets and upscale eateries, thinking and worrying, feeling a sense of grief for the woman's family. No child, or anyone for that matter should be forced to lose a loved one during Christmas. At last, she came to a red light where she stopped. She nearly decided to drive on considering the traffic was dead, but she waited.

She anxiously tapped her fingers along the rim of the steering wheel. Then a movement up ahead had caught her eyes; a man walking along dressed in black. She knew that walk and she knew that man.

"John?"

But something happened. Something happened before she had time to scowl, resent, despise or even long for him. Something had jumped out at him, another human-like figure. This one was taller, far more muscled and very pale. He was shirtless and she thought she could make out strange dark marking painted over his thick chest. He carried in one of his hands a long silver blade.

John had froze, not moving, not blinking or running, only watching.

"So, we met up sooner than I thought." Constantine said.

"Or sooner than you had hoped." the Lord hissed.

"Ah come on, I'm not that rude am I?"

"Let's see how rude you can be when it comes to pleading for your life, Constantine."

He took a daring lunge at John, forcing him to jump back in an attempt to dodge the blade's edge.

John moved around him, searching desperately for his crusifix; the only weapon he had.

"So Constantine, where will you run? What will the great exorcist do now?" he chuckled cleverly, seeming so sure that he had John right where he wanted him. The scary thing was, he did. "That crusifix will do you no good here." he extended his palm towards the cross that was now in John's grip and it disintegrated right in his hand. John watched as the dust sprinkled from his now open palm to the surface of the sidewalk. "Convinced?"

Angela remained parked at the red light, now readying herself for another shooting as she finished loading her handgun. She didn't know who this attacker was or what he was, but she knew he was trying to hurt John, and she wouldn't stand back and watch it any longer now that she could see what was happening here.

She leaped out of the SUV and ran along the street until the Dark Arts Lord cast his yellow eyes upon her. His stare made her cold but she fought to hide her fear of him.

"Drop the weapon and put your hands where I can see them!" she demanded.

John watched her, fear ringing his gut.

"Get the hell out of here!" he yelled; but Angela ignored John's words.

"I said, drop the weapon and put your hands up now! I _will_ fire this gun!"

"Well," the Lord grinned slyly. "Why wait until I drop my sword? Fire away. I do intend to kill him."

For a second she was apprehensive, but then she pulled the trigger, firing over and over again. He only seemed to jerk as the bullets shot through him and up against the brick wall and glass window from behind. His arms were held open as if he were inviting her to waste her last bullets.

Angela meant to kill him. She always knew when the moment was right. This creature was here for one thing; to kill the man she...loved.

The trigger clicked three times and the gun was empty. She watched in shock as the bullet holes in his skin resealed themselves. There never seemed to be any blood there.

But Dark Arts Lord was in for a surprise of his own. He had to find out the hard way that taking his eyes off from Constantine would be a mistake. John had leaped onto him, wrapping his arms round his neck and pushing him to the ground. He punched the vampire in the head several times and quickly pulled yet another crusifix from his coat.

"Don't worry, this one's different." John pressed against the sides of the golden cross and a small sharp blade thrust out. With the weapon, he managed to pierce the vampire's heart, and for a moment it seemed that maybe he had done some damage; but the Dark Arts Lord quickly gave John a blow three times as damaging as his own punches had been, sending him against a brick wall. The vampire then jumped to his feet, pulling the useless crusifix out of his chest and tossing it carelessly into the street.

The hit was hard against John's skull, and now he was half out of himself, struggling to keep focus on the bastard who now stood to his feet, towering John in an attempt to intimidate.

"Down again. When are you going to learn to accept the simple fact that _down_ is where you need to stay?"

He seemed uninterested in Angela who was still watching in horror, but she didn't take long to jog quietly back to the safety of her SUV. She leaped in, locking herself in the seatbelt and cranking up. She backed up quickly, switching off the lights and turning into a corner to disappear.

The Dark Arts Lord stepped closer to Constantine, the rain dampaning his long locks. As he held the blade to John's chin, Constantine remained seated against the wall of brick trying to think of some way out of this without taking any further trauma from this vampire who clearly had the upper hand.

"Well, finish me off. That's what you came for isn't it?" he taunted, trying to stay two. He could feel small amounts of warm blood forming on the back of his head and slowly trinkling down his neck.

"Don't worry, Constantine. I plan to finish you off quite well. But I want to ensure that you suffer a long, painful death." he said. The rain was falling harder now.

He raised the sword from John's chin, aiming it and giving a warrior's howl before thrusting it beneath John's left breast. As the silver tip of the shiny blade went into him, John grinded his teeth, wincing and holding back the need to cry out. But then it came to him: Why had the Dark Arts Lord suddenly stopped? He had only shoved it about an inch into his skin before pulling it back out and pausing dumbly.

The rain was loud now, but their seemed to be something roaring up from behind.

Then John saw it coming; Angela's large vehicle racing up on them. He shut his eyes, not sure but hoping she knew what she was doing. He could only hope for the best…for himself.

The SUV hit the Dark Arts Lord like a hammer against a stone, sending him right through the window. He took the sword with him. Some of the small shattered glass slightly scraped John's face and the SUV had stopped in the nick of time, only pushing against his knees slightly.

He opened his eyes seeing that she had already leaped out to help him to his feet. She led him to the back door of the SUV, helping him slide in and then slipping back into the drivers seat herself.

She cranked up, backed up quickly and sped off.

The Dark Arts Lord weaseled painfully out of the window cracking the glass beneath his feet, plucking the broken pieces out of his grey skin and one large piece out of his golden eye. He wandered into the middle of the street, still holding on to his sword, watching as the SUV disappeared down the dark road ahead.

He did not speak, nor make any sound. The scowling expression on his face said enough to express what he was thinking. He would get Constantine. Eventually, he would get him.

"Oh shit…" John uttered in the back seat.

"How deep is it?" she asked, her voice firm but worried.

"Not that deep. Where the hell are we going?"

"I'm taking you to a doctor."

"Screw a doctor."

"You're hurt, John."

"Angela please, I'm fine. Just a little scratched up."

"I'm still taking you to a doctor."

"You do, I'll give you hell."

Angela grumbled at him beneath her breath. _"Stubborn, overgrown…"_

"Huh?" he mumbled in the back.

"I'm taking you to my place then. I'll look at it myself." she replied sharply, glancing at him through the rear view.

* * *

She almost fell into the door of the apartment with him, carrying him over her arm as they continued to stumble in. He gritted his teeth each time they moved and eventually she helped him fall onto the couch.

Duck had been frightened by the commotion of them coming inside and had found sanctuary on the kitchen counters.

"Alright, can you take your shirt off?" she asked, sitting opposite him on the same sofa.

John looked at her, almost wanting to smirk with pleasure but holding it back.

"And don't give me any smart-ass looks." she added, expressing the soreness she still felt towards him.

He slipped out of his coat, still wincing, and then he tossed his tie onto the other side of the couch, unbuttoning his expensive blood-stained shirt afterwards.

"Oh no…" he heard her whisper to herself. "It's pretty deep."

"It cant be that deep, it only went in about an inch."

"That's still too deep. You'll have to get stitches. From a doctor."

"I'd rather _you_ stitch me up." he said.

She hated the way he said that. It made her want to blush.

"Just wait here, I'll get some peroxide." she cut his stare on her off, heading into the bathroom.

When she returned, she immediately began cleaning his glass-scratched face with cotton balls and applying antibiotic ointment.

"Ouch!" he winced.

She paused, briefly holding the ointment away from his face.

"What?" she asked.

"It burns."

"Sorry." she said demurely as she continued, albeit slower this time.

The blood from the stab continued to trinkle down his stomach and Angela struggled to dab it up with a damp cloth.

"OUCH! Dammit, Angela..." he winced harder this time and when he crunched his stomach slightly, more blood rushed out of the wound. "Jesus Christ..." he uttered. "...Son of a bitch."

"I'm sorry." she reiterated.

She took his hand in hers afterwards and placed it against the cloth for him to hold it over himself while she reached for his shirt.

"What are you doing now?" he asked her.

"I'm going to wrap this around you." she said, ripping the shirt through the middle.

She glanced up, seeing the not-so-amused look on his scratched face.

"It was already stained." she said. He didn't comment.

He slid forward on the cushion as she swung the shirt over his back. She slipped her arms past his sides and he could tell she was trying not to blush again.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked her.

She refused to reply and she refused to look up at him because the real answer was the simple fact that she loved him, and right now she was struggling to hide from him the tears that struggled to run from her hazel eyes.

He moved his hand upward on the cloth that laid over his wound, now holding it in place with the tips of his fingers as she wrapped the shirt tightly over it.

"Too tight?" she asked, turning away from him to rub her eyes.

"It's fine." he replied, low-toned.

"So, who was that?" she asked, still looking away.

"A Dark Arts Lord. The guy behind all these possessions. He nearly had Gemma and me killed last night."

"Killed?" she looked over her shoulder at him.

"Yeah. He wants to get rid of me. And because my niece shares my abilities, she's a threat too."

"My God John, is she alright?"

"She's fine. She's somewhere safe with her mother."

"Oh. Well, good then."

"For now." he said. "He's getting impatient. I have this little fear in the back of my mind that he may target someone and possibly use them against me."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to leave the city and I'm taking a couple of people with me. Kit Ryan being one of them. Sadly, Roach too…but I need a driver."

"John," she turned herself back around, facing him once again.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about…"

"Forget it. I'm an asshole. I know it."

He was pleased to see he had brought a smile on her.

"I can't argue with that." she stated.

"Kit told me I should…learn to appreciate you more and... show it. Thing is, I already do. I just don't have a clue as to how I should show it."

He really wanted to say it. He wanted to tell her that three letter sentence, the same one he had somehow managed to utter to Gemma. But why was it so hard with Angela? Why couldn't he just say it? For once in his life why couldn't he find the strength to say that to a woman? He couldn't possibly find one of better quality than what Angela was, so why couldn't he tell her now? Maybe those words were too foreign to his lips for comfort. Gemma was hard enough to speak it to, but she was just a kid and his niece at that.

"John…" her eyes were tearing but this time she couldn't hide it.

"Hey," he caught the first tear with his thumb, and she froze. "Why are you crying?"

He looked into her, and slowly she began to move forward, closing in on him quietly. Their lips pressed against each other and his thumb became his hand against her cheek. She gently placed her own hand on his bare shoulder.

Suddenly, she released herself from him, though _he_ would have carried on.

"What is it?" he asked her, hating that the moment had died.

"I need to ask you something." she said.

He waited for her to continue.

"Can you... commit?" she asked him sincerely.

He was silent in his thoughts, and he could sense that she was growing anxious for him to reply...maybe hopeless.

"I can try." he replied at last. He tried to kiss her, but instead she threw her arms around him and held him close. He placed his hand over her, stroking her hair. "Angela," he whispered into her ear. "Go with me."

"Where?"

"To the country to see Ambroas."

"John I can't leave."

"You aren't safe here."

"I can't go. I have a cat, a job. I've got three open cases that I'm having to work on now. One of which is another death that occurred tonight before I found you. A mother."

"Angela, he has eyes watching me. That's how he knew about Gemma. He could very well hurt you. Don't make me go off without you."

"John, I'm a cop."

"This is more than a mere criminal."

"I know. Just try to understand…I can't go."

"Then I won't be about to sleep without you."

She pulled away from his embrace.

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to. John, I can't get mixed up in this any further. Even if I wanted to I couldn't. Please don't make me feel guilty on top of worrying. I'm scared for you too."

He looked into her and she could see that his eyes were full of fear.

"Listen," she said, taking his face into her hands. "I'll be right here when you get back. I promise. You have to trust me. I trust you."

He studied her, his expression still wearied and troubled, but maybe she would be fine.

"Come on, I'll drive you to the doctor." she offered.

"No, drive me home. I've got to see about Katherine and...Roach can stitch me up. He was in the navy once."

The thought of Roach stitching him up hardly sounded reasonable. All they ever did was fight, curse and argue, but hopefully Roach would be good enough to not...use this as an oppurtunity to torture John.

"How about on the way there, you fill me in on Katherine's story?"

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Thanks krluva for helping me edit the last scenes. Love the suggestions!


	18. Chapter XVIII: The Road To Somewhere

**CHAPTER XVIII: The Road To Somewhere**

"Make preparations, we're leaving."

That was what he told Roach when he and Angela had arrived back at the bowling alley. Now he was laid out on his bed with Roach stitching him up and Angela clutching on to his hand as she sat near the edge of his pillow. He didn't notice, but he was holding on to her rather tightly, and deep within he didn't want to let go.

"Just hold still. Only got a few more to go here." Roach coached him as he wove the stitching in and out. In his lap sat a heavy first aid kit.

"Can I at least have another sip of that alcohol?" John asked, wincing.

"You don't need anymore liquor, John." Angela told him, her words keeping Roach from handing John the bottle, which he almost did.

"No, he really doesn't. I think he drinks too much as it is." Katherine added. Angela chuckled.

"That's all I need…two women trying to tell me what I need and don't need." John sneered. "Ouch!" he let out as Roach slipped the needle through again.

"I think you'll live." Angela said demurely with a warm grin, kissing him on the forehead before releasing herself from his grip and leaving the bedside. He watched her, not so happy to have her leave.

"Hi Katherine." Angela left John's side to approach Katherine who remained at the window.

"Hi." she smiled. "You're John's…girlfriend?" she could see Angela's cheeks flushing.

"I'm Detective Angela Dodson."

_Detective_…that was a title that unnerved Katherine.

"You're a cop?"

"Yeah. John told me a little about you on the way here."

"He did?" Katherine wasn't pleased to hear this. "What did he tell you to be exact?"

"Oh, just a little more about how you guys met as kids. Something about how you have dreams…dreams about you seeing visions. Why, was he not supposed to tell me any of this?"

"No, it's not that... Just…I've got a bad habit of being overly…I don't know, secretive. Not that I have any um…dark secrets but, I'm a bit private. Not that I mind _you_ knowing." she thought that reply came out rather lamely in her.

"I respect that. I'm that way myself actually."

"I would think so…you being who you are and all. A cop."

"Right. Say, how'd your dad end up like that?"

"John didn't mention him?"

"I guess it slipped his mind…_a lot of things do."_

"A car accident. He's been like that for a long while now…paralyzed. Now it's _me_ who takes care of _him_."

"That's awful. At least though, he has a daughter who loves him so much."

"Yeah well," Katherine turned her stare back towards the window, a hot cup of coffee warming her hands. "Dad's the only person I've ever really had. Mom left us when I was very young. I don't remember her as well as I'd like…it's the pictures I've kept that keep her face vivid." she seemed willing enough to talk about that part of her past.

"I lost touch with my folks years ago. Daddy he…died of a heart attack about five years ago and…mother passed away a little bit before my sister's death."

"Your sister?" Katherine glanced back at her.

"Isabel. She was a patient at Ravenscar Mental Hospital. She…jumped from the rooftop." Angela tilted her head down, squinting slightly and feeling the rush of heat filling her eyes. She wanted to break out, let her emotions fall out of her in tears, but she fought it. Katherine grasped her hand gently, bringing to her a bit of comfort.

"It's okay." she whispered.

"Thank you." Angela smiled. There was something special in Katherine's touch, something that felt so much like Isabel's clasp use to feel...warm and soft.

* * *

There was no waste of time in their packing. Roach tossed some useful things into a suitcase in his apartment along with some beer, a little food and his old navy dog tag that he held on to for luck.

John was pacing around in his room, gathering clothes into a bag of his own and laying all of his weapons out on the bed. Roach had wrapped a more suitable bandage over his now stitched scar, and he had slipped into another one of his expensive shirts and ties. Angela and Katherine remained in their seats at the wooden table near the kitchen.

"Angela, I want you to keep this."

"What is it, John?"

"Here," he stepped towards her until he was almost standing over her.

"A crucifix?" she lifted a brow.

"Just in case. Vampires and demons alike can't stand them."

"Thank you…I'll uh…hang on to it."

"Do that." he said, returning to his packing.

"John, you seem to be forgetting one thing." Katherine cut in. "I have a father who's in a wheelchair and a dog."

"Don't you have someone we can leave them with?"

"I suppose Ms. Ruth, my neighbor. But I really don't won't to leave them for too long."

"You'll have to, Kit." he told her. "If you want to get any help for yourself, you'll have to leave them."

Angela placed her hand over Katherine's clutched one.

"Listen," she whispered. "I'll check up on them if it makes you feel better about leaving them."

"Would you, Angela? It would mean so much…"

"They can ride in my SUV on the way to your neighbors house and I'll keep note of the address so I won't forget."

"I'll have Ms. Ruth to give you a number too." Katherine added. "Thanks so much."

In the passing of brief moments, they found themselves standing in the dark of early morning hours, throwing everything they had packed into the back of Roach's mustang.

With the assistance of Angela and her large SUV, Katherine was able to deliver her father and her dog to Ms. Ruth's house who assured Katherine that she would take the best of care of them like she always did.

She kissed her father's face and whispered to him how much she loved him, and then Max, who hated to see her go, received a kiss of his own from Katherine.

"Do you want to get something out of your house?" John asked her before she slipped into the car.

"I've got some money. I'll just buy a few clothes on the way." she told him. She wouldn't dare set foot in that place, not with the possibility of Trent still there.

John slipped out of the car, pulling his seat forward again so that Katherine could slip inside. He took the moment to say to Angela a final goodbye.

"So, how long do you think you'll be gone?" she asked him as she leaned against the door of her SUV, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Not long I hope." he uttered in the dark.

"Me too." she said, almost desperately.

"Angela, please watch your back. There's a lot of evil creeping around L.A. right now."

"John please, I don't want you to worry over me. I'm going to be just fine."

"Yeah." he said, briefly glancing away.

"Hey," she caught his stare. "What about…" she could feel herself blushing. "…a kiss goodbye?"

"Well," he mused, slipping his hands into his pockets. "You're enjoying this kissing thing, aren't you Detective?" John glanced around, seeing that they were alone and that Roach and Katherine could not possibly see them.

"Just a small one?" she didn't want to put John out of commission too badly, so she tried to make the request simpler.

He leaned forward and planted a small but passionate kiss on her lips. When he pulled back, he could see that a warm, delighted smile had been painted onto her face.

"Thanks." she whispered.

"Try not to let Ellie fool you anymore. She's pure evil…I know this."

"Alright. Oh, and John,"

"Yeah?"

"Don't be gone too long."

He gave her a longing stare and then returned to the car. Each vehicle parted in separate directions.

"John," Roach began as they made way onto the highways. "What makes you so certain that a doctor will have answers about vampires?"

"Trust me, Roach. There's more to Ambroas than being a doctor."

"I hope he's the same Ambroas you remember him being then."

They drove all night and right in to early morning. With their stomachs growling, Roach managed to talk John into letting them stop at a diner off the highway.

They drove continuously that day and up into the following night, stopping only when they had to and being careful not to linger. Katherine had fallen asleep in the back and Roach kept driving along the open road. John had rolled down his window, letting his arm rest on the door.

The black highway was rushing by and the wind sang loudly against his ears. His eyes saw nothing but the wheeling stars and the vast shadows against the sky that were the Great California Rockies. Sleepily, John tried to reckon all that had come to play before they took on this road to somewhere, and he struggled to convince himself that he wouldn't regret leaving Angela behind.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

**Author's Notes:** That last paragraph was actually inspired by a favorite book of mine by a favorite author. I sort of took and it and did my own twist. I know this chapter is short, but I thought it would be interesting until I can find some time (and ideas) to get the next one posted. I've got a lot planned ahead so maybe it'll get finished before long.


	19. Chapter XIX: Katherine Dreams, John

**CHAPTER XIX: Katherine Dreams, John Schemes**

Jolting, jumping…that was the way she felt inside. The tide of vengeance was upon her, casting it's unpredictable shadow of fear over her, leaving her stomach struck with a sudden qualm.

Then there was the infinite instance of silence followed by a horrible blood-roar. And out of the gloom around her leaped the shadow of the hissing entity. It stood there, staring with glowing yellow eyes, striking her with stones of malice, and yet, it had not closed in to touch her.

"_Who are you?" _she tried to whisper, but the words only floated through her mind, for her lips could move not in this instant moment of terror.

It's steps scratched the surface of stone beneath them in this dark cold place where wind whistled death and mountains wanted to crumble upon her.

The thing hissed again, speaking no words from it's tongue but instead sending it's ruthless message to her mind.

"_Hey, babe_…"

"_Oh my god_!" With these words she knew, she knew this voice, that comment, that reference.

The beast in the shadows peered out and in the blink of time it became him…Trent.

"Kathy, I know you don't honestly think that running away will do much good. You can't honestly believe this, you're smarter than that, aren't you?" he moved ever closer and she shrilled in his presence, taking three steps back to his one step forward.

"Get away! Get away!"

"But I won't."

Her back hit the wall of stone and here she was; crowded and overtaken, dominated by his existence. She felt numb, stoned, unmovable like a motionless thing, and he was closed in and clutching her throat, squeezing tightly like a python coiled around a rat.

"Kathy," he spoke demurely, "I only want you to know that, when all of this is over, with what, your so-called friends and all, I'll be right here waiting when you get back, baby. And if _you_ don't come to _me_," he squeezed tighter, "_I'll_ come to _you_."

He stared her with eyes of steal, sending piercing arrows of cold and death to her heart. Then he spoke to her a final time, just before the last breath of air escaped her, and his vocals rung loud and quick against her ears.

"WAKE UP!"

* * *

She jolted and jerked again, only this time she was in the back seat of a car.

"Wake up!" Now the demand was a request coming from none other than Roach. He glanced at her in great and sudden concern painted upon his rusty, grungy face. "Hey, what the hell's wrong with you? You act like you been bloody strangled."

She didn't speak so quickly, only, she tried hard to catch her breath, hoping that the tightness she still felt upon her throat would be relieved…and in a minute or so, it was.

"I'm fine." she swallowed, trying to relax against the seat. "Where's John?"

"Phone booth." Roach said, still looking over her in almost trepidation. "You sure you're alright?"

"Yes." she informed, annoyed by the question. "I am."

"If you say so." he turned back around, resting his hands on the leather of the steering wheel and glancing at the passerbys through the wind shield.

* * *

From the glass walls of the telephone booth, John could still see Roach's mustang in the rest stop's parking lot and he could still hear the loud rush of traffic roaring along the highway on this gray day.

Slipping the quarters in, he began to dial the number, being sure to punch the right ones as he studied what was printed up on the paper in his hand.

There was ringing, maybe three or four good rings, and then the phone clicked and John spoke.

"Hello?"

"_This is Dr. Ambroas of the Institution For The Gifted. Who's calling please?"_

He took a few seconds to be hesitant. He was surprised to hear the old man's voice. It was far more aged than he had remembered, but he had to speak, he had to tell him who he was and why he was calling.

"Uh, this may come of a surprise to you. I don't know if you remember me. It's John Constantine from…Ravenscar. I was once a patient of your's…I wa-"

"_The boy who saw the half-breeds. I've never forgotten you, John. What on earth are you calling me for after all of these years?" _The old man responded jubilantly to this.

"I'm coming to the Institution. Last minute warning I know, but I'm only an hour away now."

"_Why John? What's troubling you to bring yourself here?"_

"Ambroas, I'm at the end of my ropes here."

"_What's wrong?"_

"Can we discuss it on my arrival? I feel like I'm running for my life."

"_Of course! Of course! I'll be right here waiting."_

"Thanks, Ambroas. We'll be there shortly."

"_Shortly_?"

Click…the phone was hung and John hurried back to the car.

"What'd he say?" Roach asked.

"He's waiting. Let's go."

The car cranked, and they drove away from the place in a haste, pulling back onto the highway and continuing their journey.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

A/N: Short but maybe it'll keep you all hanging. Next chapter to introduce Ambroas and the gifted patients of the Institution...


	20. Chapter XX: The Institution

**CHAPTER XX: The Institution**

The old man deemed his arrival to be no sooner, nor later, than that of an hour apart from their brief talk on the phone. He wondered how this man would be today and of the news he may bring yet. He wondered what it was that this man had been mixed up in that had brought him to so desperately need the aid of an old Doctor. The long minutes of waiting on the steps brought many questions and many theories to mind.

When Constantine arrived by the hour of the red sun setting low, a bit later than expected, Ambroas greeted him honorably and the two shook hands. Afterwards, John introduced Roach and then Katherine - Ambroas took up quite an interest in the young woman.

_The Institution Of Gifted Children_ was a grand place, being rather massive in square footage. It was built of old stone and it's architecture was a spin off of medieval with a flare of gothic revival. The gardens complimented the place, with a small maze of short shrubs lining the pathway that led to the grand doors of the building and in the center was a babbling water fountain big enough for one to sit upon it's edges.

"The gardens aren't as colorful now," said Ambroas to Katherine who he noticed was in awe at the sight before her, "but in the spring and summer there are roses and lilies all over the place."

"I wish I could see it." Katherine smiled. "I've always loved flowers."

Katherine and Roach found Ambroas to be quite a friendly fellow, being sophisticated and well mannered. He was well educated no doubt, and his thick beard and piercing blue eyes gave him a jolly appearance, yet he was a rather slim fellow. It was mainly John Constantine who received Ambroas' full attention on arrival. The old man gestured for the two of them to retire into his office whilst Katherine and Roach made themselves at home in the Library.

"I'm somewhat surprised." Roach mused, his rusty hands gliding over the rim of a blue crystal vase.

"Surprised at what?" Katherine asked him, her brown eyes dancing about the room that boasted a large array of endless books.

"It's just…well, I'm a bit surprised that a Bloke like John Constantine could be associated with a man like Ambroas, ya know?"

"How come?"

"Because, like myself John isn't exactly," Roach shrugged, "up there."

"Up where?"

"High society. Ambroas is sort of sophisticated compared to John."

"So? He's a Doctor. Besides, I think he knew John as a boy, didn't he?"

"Something like that. I don't know the full of it. Probably never will."

"John's pretty secretive, huh?"

"He has his reasons." Roach sighed. It was then that the door came open and Roach's lips tilted upward demurely at the sight of an attractive woman who's red hair hung about her cheeks like fire. Her features were sharp and her body of a fine build. She smiled politely at them.

"Hello." she said, stepping in.

"Hi." Katherine returned the mannerism. Roach on the other hand was rather speechless.

"I'm Jean. I um, I was wondering if the two of you would like something to drink or eat?"

"Actually," Katherine began, rolling her eyes at Roach, "it would be nice to have some refreshments. If it's not too much to ask."

"Not at all. How about lemonade and turkey sandwiches?"

"That would be lovely."

The young woman, perhaps thirty five, left them momentarily and Katherine took an opportunity to jab Roach with her elbow.

"What the bloody hell's wrong with you?!" he demanded, rubbing his shoulder.

"How about leaving your sexist habits at home for once? We're in an Institution here, not a night club."

"Eh, you're just pissed cause I ain't eyin' you!"

"Please," Katherine scowled, "only a desperate idiot would want something like you groping at them."

When Jean returned, she had a fine display of sandwiches and three glasses of lemonade on a silver tray. Generously, Katherine helped her set it on a coffee table and the red haired woman joined the guests, taking a seat across from them in one of the recliners.

"Thanks Jean. Oh, forgive me…I'm Katherine and this here," Katherine sneered slightly at Roach, who once again was making it rather obvious of what his eyes were enjoying, "is Roach."

"Friends of Mr. Constantine's?"

"Something like that. So, what exactly does Dr. Ambroas do here?"

"Well," Jean began, finishing the sipping of her glass, "basically he's somewhat of a physiatrist, in more simple terms. Most of the patients here are gifted children, kids who see things or have unnatural talents. Indigo kids, kids who can do things beyond your wildest dreams. Ambroas helps them understand their gifts and how to use them for good things. He teaches the kids to embrace what they have, rather than fear it."

"Wow. He sounds like a very trustworthy man."

"Oh he is, Katherine. He's only one of the very best. We have so many kids here…some of which have come from distant places across the globe."

"Tell me," Roach managed, "what does a lovely thing such as yourself do here?"

"Well I'm Dr. Ambroas' assistant." Jean blushed.

"A Nurse?" Katherine asked.

"Somewhat." Jean smiled.

"_But how can a Doctor who deals with gifted kids be able to assist John in solving his problem about the Dark Arts Lord_?" Roach pondered to himself.

The loud shrill that suddenly echoed down the corridor outside the open doors of the Library made everyone, save Jean, unsettled in their seats.

"What's that?" Katherine asked, her eyes concerned.

"Oh goodness! That's Blair. She's a bit new here…must be another one of her nightmares."

"Nightmares?" Katherine furrowed her brows.

"Will you two please excuse me for a moment?"

They both nodded slowly, watching as Jean raced out of the room and cantered down the hallway. Their ears heard her rushing into a room, shutting a door behind her.

* * *

The office was cool, delightful and elegant - it's appeal much like how the rest of the place looked. John paced the floor, often hitting his hands on Ambroas' desk who sat still and rendered him whilst he puffed a wooden pipe. Constantine didn't leave out a single detail as far as the Dark Arts Lord and all of the Demonic activity were concerned- Ambroas was after all one of the few people he knew for certain was trustworthy.

"So, you've come here as a last result another words?" Ambroas asked.

"Pretty much." John said, coming to a calm. "I'm desperate Ambroas. This Dark Arts Lord is capable of a lot of shit, and I can't afford to let anymore people get hurt."

"Sit down, John." The old man placed his pipe down and as John seated himself awkwardly in the chair before the desk, Ambroas searched through his file cabinet for something John was yet to see. "As you know, I've studied Demonology, Angelology, Paranormal Phenomena…but I only know so much about Vampires. They are indeed legend," Ambroas slammed a heavy leather book onto the table and immediately began flipping through it's pages, "myth," he went on, "fantasy and folklore. I haven't many books that can give you any clues, any answers you may be searching for. It's very possible that your coming here could very well be a waste."

"I was actually hoping that you could get in touch with an old friend of yours."

"If you're referring to the Arch Angel Uriel, I am afraid that the chances of me digging him up would be futile. And even if I were successful, it is unlikely he would assist you." Ambroas told him as he slipped on a pair of gold rimmed spectacles.

"Shit. I've run out of loopholes then. My friends have dwindled down to few…."

"Hold up, here's something here." Ambroas lifted the book, turning it around and allowing it to face John who embraced it eagerly. "Read this here."

"Ambroas, the pages are blank." As John glanced up, Ambroas was already holding in his hand the golden spectacles. "What the hell is this?"

"You'll have to wear them, should you be able to read what's written on that book. And be careful, it's old…the book I mean."

Reluctantly, John grabbed hold of the glasses, slipping them unwillingly onto his face. The good thing however was that the pages now boasted ancient text written in Latin.

"You can read Latin, can't you?"

"Sure." John's spectacle covered eyes scanned the pages carefully for some time before he spoke again. "Vampirology. This tells how to deal with them, their weaknesses, their strengths…" He flipped the page. "Their origin."

"Did you know that the Demoness, Lilith, was believed to have been one of the first Vampires?"

"Lilith," John reiterated the name, "thought to have been the first wife of Adam, before Eve, but she was cast down into Hell for her rebellion against a man's authority to forever bear only demons in birth."

"Yes. And to torment man for their lust."

"What are you getting at here, Ambroas?" John removed the not-so-appealing spectacles and eyed his friend mindfully from across the desk. For Ambroas, many scenarios played out in his mind as he thought briefly for the right words.

"Well John, like this Dark Arts Lord, Lilith was once thought to be a Vampiress. Though, I've clearly come to the theory that perhaps she was in fact half Demon herself. From what you've told me, his appearance, the weapon he stabbed you with…it's quite possible that this villain could be hundreds of years old, even thousands."

"Listen, I already know that much about Vampires. Them selling their souls for eternal youth and in return serving Lucifer Morningstar for all eter-" The sentence was cut short as John winced slightly in his seat. When his sharp, dark eyes returned to the sight of Ambroas, he could see that the old man was studying him suspiciously.

"What on this good Earth was that for?"

"Nothing." John assured him. "Just a little tender."

"John, let me have a look at that scar of yours."

"Come on," said John, annoyed, "it's only natural for it to be tender. Hell, Roach stitched it up."

"Let me have a look, John." It was more than a request, it was an order. John could clearly see this in Ambroas' face. So, reluctantly, he allowed the Doctor to have a look by pulling his shirt up. The Doctor rounded the desk, kneeling down and examining it closely, his fingers gently pressing against the stitching. John winced every time.

"Good God." he uttered. The wound was red, swollen and yellow pus spilled and dried through the stitching with the stain of blood serum accenting it's gangly color.

"So, did he do that bad of a job?" John remarked.

"John," Ambroas did not pay heed to his remark on Roach's stitching, but was rather concentrated on the situation at hand, "describe to me again the blade he used to cut you with."

"Hell, I don't know. It was fucking dark. It was just an old sword of some kind. Looked like something you see in those Dark Age movies. It wasn't rusty, if that's what you're concerned about."

"I'd like to take a sample of the pus."

"A sample?"

"Yes, a sample."

John watched as Ambroas fingered through a wall cabinet and once returned to Constantine's side, he swabbed the wound. John winced and cursed once in the discomfort.

"John, why don't you go into the Library and find your friends. I'll let the three of you stay in some of the empty rooms upstairs."

"We can get a hotel."

"No!" Ambroas replied much sharper and desperate than he wanted to sound, so clearing his throat he recollected his tone to a more calm one. "No. Just, I'd rather have you all here. Besides, there's plenty of room and you can save some money."

Now John was growing suspicious and the old man could see this, so he brushed it off cleverly by suggesting dinner; but Constantine was too smart to take things lightly now.

"Alright then. I'll uh, go and check up on Roach and Kit."

"Yes. I'll let you know when," he coughed, "if I find anything of alarm."

With furrowed brows, John reluctantly nodded and slowly stepped out, his wary eyes still trained on the sight of Ambroas until the door was closed. Turning around however was only the start of yet another surprise, abruptly a patient who was rounding the corner of the corridor came crashing into John shoulder, hurting her head and falling to the floor.

"Why don't you watch where the fuck you're -" The girl, perhaps no older than eighteen, refrained herself from any further sarcasm and Constantine glanced her before volunteering to help her to her feet. "I don't need any." she assured him and John took his hand away eagerly.

"Suit yourself." he said. The girl's wild eyes watched him till he disappeared into a grand set of doors. Brushing her flat brown hair away from her face, she regained her footing and stepped into Ambroas' office.

"Doctor? …Shit, he must be out." The youth slammed herself into a chair to await his return, but her mind was wandering upon the man in the hallway. "I know I've seen that guy somewhere." she thought, her arms folded over her chest.

In that moment, a small door opened and her eyes shot up at the sight of a bewildered old man. When he spoke her name, she could tell that something was troubling him.

"Blair? Did you want to see me about something?"

"Well….what were you doing back there?"

"Preparing a swab for testing." The old man found his seat behind the desk. "What's on your mind?"

"I had another nightmare." Blair confessed.

"I think a lot of folk have been drenched in un-delightful dreams of late. Dark days are ahead of us, you know."

"Yes. My dreams keep telling me." Blair sighed. "Damn, I wish I could dream like normal teenagers…I wish that the only thing on my mind was getting a new cell or calling my boyfriend or getting tickets to a concert."

"Don't wish such things on yourself."

"Why not? Why is it so wrong to want to fit in? Maybe if I were normal I'd have an actual relationship with my dad."

"Your father loves you, Blair."

"I know. But he doesn't want to be put up with a lunatic. I don't blame him either."

"Now hold up, you're no lunatic. And you're father only sent you here so that you would realize it. You're gifted, Blair. Embrace what you are. Life is going to be tough, I just finished speaking with an old friend of mine who, like yourself, saw things and still does today. And like this man, I know you're strong. You'll survive."

"Would this friend of yours happen to be a tall, slim guy dressed like an undertaker?"

"Yes, yes it was."

"I feel like I recognize him from somewhere."

"His name is John Constantine."

"Constantine…" Blair's eyes aimed towards the floor as she reiterated the name once more. When Ambroas spoke again, she returned to him her glare.

"He works as a Paranormal Investigator…performs Exorcisms too."

"Oh yeah!" Blair beamed. "I did some research on him once... He's pretty rude." He was pretty rude, but Blair didn't seem to acknowledge her own lack of good manners.

"Now, tell me about your dream. The old Doctor has to take care of something."

* * *

John found Katherine and Roach in the Library. They had both been chatting away with Jean, who generously introduced herself to John before taking her leave. Afterwards, John told his friends about the conversation they had, but he failed to mention Ambroas' concern over the wound. Perhaps John himself was still too uneasy about it.

"Did you tell him about me?" Katherine asked.

"Just a few things. I think you should talk to him about your dreams…he'll be able to answer plenty of questions about that, I can assure you."

"So you didn't get anywhere about the Dark Arts Lord, did you John?" Roach asked.

"Not too much. We uh…sort of got sidetrack."

"What do you bloody mean sidetrack, eh John? I thought we came here because you thought for certain that this Bloke could help us here!"

"Listen Roach, give me a chance. We've only just arrived and I still have a lot to sort out with him."

"Is he dependable, John?"

John hesitated.

"Well?" Roach went on. "Is he?"

"I think he is."

Roach looked onto John with doubt.

"Listen, I'm doing all I can here! The man's really the only person I was able to get in contact with that wouldn't turn me down! Besides, I thought that maybe Kit here could benefit too in her own way."

"Oh really? Well, I don't want to make ya feel bad John, but I'm beginning to doubt your ability. This is all stupid! It's a fucking waste!"

"Roach!" Katherine hissed. "There's kids in this place!"

"Look John," he went on, "I'm about ready to go home to L.A. It's bad enough I've burnt out my gas, not to mention lost good sleep because of this."

"What the hell's your problem?" John challenged.

"Guys!" Katherine tried pointlessly to silence them again.

"I don't know, why don't you ask my arse?"

"How bout' I fucking kick it instead?"

"Try it! You been wantin' to!"

"You damn right."

"Kiss off!"

"Ah, face it. You're too damn chicken shit, you little mole. Once you smell the dinner cooking you'll be back to your old rotten ways and your cheap jokes."

"FUCK OFF!" Roach shouted, standing inches before the exit.

"FUCK YOURSELF!"

The door slammed shut and John and Katherine could hear his shouts bounding about the hall, till he suddenly grew silent. The two exchanged glances, wondering why the loud Roach was suddenly so silent now.

"What the fuck?!" Roach demanded, rubbing his nose and looking at a girl standing before him. Her eyes were full of the same fieceness as his own and her teeth were gritted without remorse. "Why don't you watch where your fucking walking?!" Roach went on.

"Why don't you eat my fist!?" The girl balled up her hand, clutching it tightly and swinging it towards Roach's face. It was there that the Bloke was knocked literally to the floor; and although the girl's strike wasn't enough to knock him out, his nose was still numb with pain and he lay motionless with his eyes cast upon the ceiling. He was taken by quite the surprise.

"What the hell happened?!" Roach heard John say. He and Katherine came rushing out into the corridor only to find Roach sprawled upon the floor. Dr. Ambroas and Jean had also heard the commotion and didn't take long to come upon the scene themselves. John, seeing the stunned girl with a clutched fist, quickly put two and two together and allowed for a brief, mocking chuckle to slip out of his lips.

"Oh my gosh! What happened?" Jean asked, coming to Blair's side who remained still before her victim.

"Blair, did you do this?" Ambroas asked, watching as Roach slowly swabbed the small stream of blood from one of his nostrils with a finger.

"Gee, maybe it was a Ghost." the girl smarted. Ambroas gave her a rather displeased look.

"Blair…" Jean sighed. "Blair why?"

"Look, the guy was acting like a nut job. Somebody had to lay him out!"

"The girl's right." John cut in, a little more eager than Roach liked. "He was bound to get punched. The quicker, the better. Who knows? Maybe she knocked some sense into him…not that it's likely."

Blair tried to hide her naughty grin.

"I'm sorry Roach." Jean said, helping him to his feet. "She's a harmless troublemaker... sometimes…well, on her bad days." Jean shot Blair an arched brow. "Right Blair?"

"Right." Blair grunted.

"Blair, why don't you go on upstairs and cool off." Ambroas suggested. "Jean, you get Roach an icepack. I'm turning in for a bit…_had about as much of it as I can take for one day_."

With Ambroas returning to his work and Blair heading upstairs, Katherine and John followed Jean and Roach into the kitchen.

"Really," Roach said, grinning at Jean, "you two don't have to come along. I'm sure the lady here can fix me up all by herself."

"Back to normal already." John sneered.

It was while Jean was tending to the flirtatious Roach that John's mind rekindled an almost forgotten concern. The drawings by Gavin; they were still folded in his pocket, the copies Angela had given him, and he had allowed it to slip his mind. He needed to mention it to Ambroas as soon as possible. The kid needed help and besides that, the pictures could very well be another clue in all of this…much like the drawing of the Spear had been.

* * *

Night rolled around and the moon shined brightly in the sky like a great spherical orb. John amused himself in watching it silently as he sat near the large window in the guest room of which he was recommended to stay. His mind was wretched in troubled thoughts, confusing ones at that. Then there was the returning image of little Gemma and the sting to his gut that reminded him of the fear for losing her. She was probably the only human being in the world that John really had an unconditional love for. Then there was Angela, another important person in his life and he felt like he had left her smack dab in the middle of it all.

Dinner was yet to be served and everyone was supposedly in their rooms, freshening up and waiting for the call. Mrs. Paula, the cook for the Institution was said to be only one of the best of cooks and she promised a fine diner of meatloaf and scalloped potatoes - one of Ambroas' favorite dishes.

Roach was supposed to be in his own room, and he was - but Jean was in there with him. It started out with Jean walking by and offering to check up on Roach's nose, only to discover that he was playing one of her favorite games, Chess. She honestly couldn't turn down the offer he had tossed her way and as of right now Roach, who was losing badly, was contemplating on a good excuse to shut the door so that he could be alone with her. The only problem was that he was unsure of how Jean would react to that. She wasn't stupid, which made it a challenge for a bastard like Roach. As for Katherine, she had already freshened up and traveled back down to the Library.

When a gentle knock came suddenly against John's door, he startled slightly from his anxious thoughts.

"Who is it?" he asked, but no voice replied. The door opened however and a troubled youth came into view. John studied her suspiciously and her eyes seemed be transfixed upon him and in her there seemed to be some sense of hopefulness. It was Blair.

"Um, can I come in?" she asked.

"You're already in, aren't ya?"

"I guess I am." said Blair as she stepped a little closer to where he sat.

"What do ya want, kid?"

"A few answers."

"To what?"

"Something that's probably not my business."

"Then go away."

Blair remained despite his weak attempts to discourage her.

"How come you came to the Institution, Mr. Constantine?"

"Well I'm not turning myself in if that's what you're thinking."

"No." she shrugged. "You didn't strike me as a lunatic…unlike myself." she sighed.

"Lunatic, huh?" John wanted to change the subject. "That was one hell of a punch you threw back there. Where'd you learn it?"

"Uh…" Blair's eyes suddenly grew wide and she seemed to be taken by some small surprise by this. "My dad. I thought you might be upset…I mean, he is your friend and all."

John scoffed.

"Forget him. Sides', I got a niece who's pretty feisty herself."

"A niece?" Blair eased herself onto the small bed as John watched her from his seat at the window. "How old is she?"

"About thirteen."

"Oh. You sound like you care a lot about her."

"What makes you so sure? You don't know a thing about me."

"Sometimes…I can just read people."

"So," John retrieved a pack of nicoderm from his pocket. "What's your story? How come you're at an Institution…I know it must be something other than that bad temper of your's."

"My dad works for the Government. He sent me here because he and Dr. Ambroas are good friends and he figured it was the best place for me."

"So why are you here?"

"I see things. I also have visions…they're normally nightmares."

"Like what?"

"Heaven, Hell…demonic images of flying Demons. They're awful."

"I see. Now, what about the stuff you see with your eyes?"

"I can…I can see…"

"What?"

Blair stuttered, finding herself baffled and terrified by the interrogating. At length she could take no more of it.

"I have to go." With that, she rushed from the sight of him, bounding out into the hall. He furrowed his brows, thinking her sudden behavior strange. It was obvious to him that this girl had a lot of problems with herself and the world around her. He knew this well because he was once just like her.

* * *

Katherine Ryan was drowned in the pages of a book. The words that flowed ever gracefully on the pages had shed a new light upon her troubled heart, lifting her momentarily to a better place. She had just gotten off the phone with Miss Ruth who assured her that her father and dog were doing well.

It came as no surprise for her to become so in tune with the poems that she began quoting the last few lines out loud.

"… _His presence is enchantment,_

_You beg him not to go;_

_Old volumes shake their vellum heads_

_And tantalize, just so_."

"Bravo, beautiful my dear." Katherine startled at the old man's voice and her eyes rendered the room in a haste of an effort to find him. There upon the small winding stairwell of iron he stood, slowly descending down to where she stood. With a small tug of embarrassment, she tried for an unsteady smile, her flushed face hiding in the sight of the book in her grasp.

"_In A Library_, by Emily Dickenson." Ambroas went on till he was standing firm before her, his hands folded behind his back and his merry face smiling at the sight of her.

"She was one of my favorite poets growing up. I'm ashamed to say that I've lost my connection to such beautiful works as her own since I've become a busy adult.

"Ah! What a shame that is. But as you must know, everyone grows up and…sadly, we all lose touch of the many things we once loved. Doesn't mean we've forgotten them though."

"Yes." Katherine smiled. "Yes, you are right Dr. Ambroas."

"Say, why don't you keep that old leather book?"

"Oh no! I just couldn't! It belongs here." Katherine tried to place the book in his hands.

"No," Ambroas pushed the book away, "I'd rather you keep it. It will find more appreciation and good use in your hands, not anyone here. Besides, do you honestly think that these lazy children would care for Emily's poems? No, they read such things as Harry Potter or those soppy teen romances." The old man was ever pleased to see that he had awaken a joyful laughter within Katherine. "Come now," he said at last, allowing her to rest her arm in his, "let us retire to the dining room."

"Thank you, Dr. Ambroas."

"Anytime, Ms. Ryan."

"Please, just call me Kit."

Now John ate his food, albeit without pleasure. For on his mind was many questions and in the mind of the Doctor was a few answers. After dinner, everyone departed, save the two who both trailed into Ambroas' office.

"You wanted to see me." John stated. "I've got something I want to show you as well…something that slipped my mind earlier."

"It will have to wait, John." The old man looked withered with trouble and John became uneased at the sight of him.

"What's wrong, Ambroas?"

"That wound…John, you've been poisoned by a venomous blade."

"What?"

"This is not a tall tale. That sword was no ordinary sword, this much I've concluded. You've been poisoned John and you're going to die."

_You're going to die_…John was shocked and at a loss of words as the phrase rang against his ears like a dreaded echo. He kept wanting to think that Ambroas was not serious, that he was clearly mistaken or perhaps even over exaggerating to make another one of his points. Was he really dying? It seemed not so long ago that he was given a new set of lungs and now he had been poisoned? The longer the old man eyed him, the more dark and heavy the room became around them and at last John Constantine could take no more.

"Then…can't you give me a fucking shot? Do something."

"John," Ambroas sighed with regret, "I'm afraid that there is nothing my hands can do, nor any Doctor. Only certain medicines could do you such a miracle and those medicines are far beyond my knowledge and reach."

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do then?"

"I don't know. But that poison will travel slowly through your blood."

"How long do I have?"

"I'm not sure."

The wound. A simple stab. If only he had known, but then, how could he? It had been tender and sore and writhing slightly, but he had put it off as nothing more than any small stab would be. Now he was set to die…again.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

**A/N:** Hi everyone. Sorry for the slow updates on this fanfic. I just got back today from a really good trip and decided to go ahead and post this while using my mom's laptop to check my email (luckily it was already saved into my documents on fanfiction). In other good news, krluva and I will hopefully be working on a new Constantine fanfic together. Now, on to the bad news...my pc is totally destroyed! That means all my files are on that thing and if it doesn't work, that means no updates from me for a while! It's so frustrating, so until I can get it fixed (dad's looking into now) I may be late of story posts! So sorry. My mom's laptop works, but she won't let me use it for writing because it is her work pc. I just wanted to clear that up in case I continue to be absent on here for some time. I will try checking my email on my mom's laptop until I can get my beloved computer fixed...even my brother's pc has a virus. And as a side note, I'm expecting to hear back from College sometime either this month or next...hopefully.

Thanks to If-I-Could-Write-500-Miles for the clever suggestion of Roach getting punched! He had it coming! heehee!

I have a lot of intense suspense for the next chapter...and it's very possible that someone may die later on in the story. But I hope to post the first chapter of Bound Together with krluva first.


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